Departing Thoughts
by chocolate rules
Summary: Not a Death fic! Post DMB. There were times that he really couldn't find another way out. Chap 22 now up! Deancentric NO Slash EVER!
1. Torn

Story contains flashbacks and the actual story line. I tried to make each chapter one word that describes what's going on. And I tried to place that word in the chapter, not that hard, but pretty fun. Not like my other stories. I've been working on this one since the summer and I'm really proud of the finished product. :D

**WARNINGS: Self-Mutilation, Language; Insults not tintended to offend anyone personally.**

**Disclaimer: Winchesters are not mine. Let's all be sad together.**

**A/N: After Episode 1.20 Dead Man's Blood, pre Salvation. AU fic.. Enjoy.**

**Departing** **Thoughts**

_Sam and John's argumenting gets too much for Dean to handle..._

**Torn**

By: chocolate rules

They were in the middle of a hunt. It was taking longer than any of them had expected and it was taking its toil on them.

They had finally managed to reach the scared victims that night. Sam and Dean were to get them out of there while John was going to go after the damn thing himself. That was the plan. However, that was a plan that John had created and had not bothered telling his sons about until the four frightened victims were found deep in the basement of the old building.

This revelation sparked anger from both boys, but one of them voiced it.

"Wait! You can't expect us to just go..."

"Yes, Sam, I can and I do! I need you and Dean to take these people back to safety!"

"And what about you? You're just going to waltz in there and kill it? When we're not even sure what the hell the damn thing is!" Sam yelled.

"Just get them out of here..." and it continued like this for another minute or two.

Both Winchesters were arguing about the lack of knowledge and time, and yet there they stood wasting away precious daylight. Any moment now, the sky would darken and then they would all learn once and for all what the damn thing was. The freaks come out at night. And they always strayed towards the trio, but God forbid that John and Sam go a day without an argument.

His whole life, Dean had been the buffer. He was between Dad and Sammy. Always. He could either be the good son, the sightless soldier, seeking out revenge. Or he could be the protector, the brother, heck the _parent_ to Sam. The older he got the more he realized that try as he might, he could never be both. If he sided with one, he was against the other.

How was he to choose between his father, _his protector, _and his Sammy, _his baby brother_? Where are your loyalties supposed to lie?

Dean listened and stood back as the argument escalated. Normally, he would try and put a stop to it. Normally, he was right in the heart of it. Normally, he wouldn't be shaking his head and walking those little steps.

"Shut up," he barely manages out as a whisper. The argument continues and it seems that neither Winchester had even noticed that the middle man who backing away.

Their audience however did notice. They took his retreat as a sign that they too should further themselves from the escalating tension.

"Shut up!!!" Dean yelled, and this time he was heard by all. John stopped mid sentence and shot a questioning glance towards his oldest. However, all that he could see of Dean was the top of his head as the boy covered his face with his hands.

His weapon lay forgotten at his feet where he had suddenly dropped it. Sam looked at Dean and unlike his father he didn't need to see Dean to know what his expression would show. Fear. Love. Anger. Rage. Dean was a mess of emotions and he knew that he and his father was the cause for it.

"Dean?" Sam said a second later breaking the unwelcome silence before it got to overwhelming.

"No! No Sam! Don't try and say that everything is okay! It can never be okay with the two of you! I mean can't you two just shut the hell up long enough to get this people out of here safely. Does it even matter who has to do it? NO! It doesn't! But leave it to you two to find any little glitch that would make that plan seem like it'll be the end of the world..." Dean stopped yelling to catch his breath. Sam remained silent. They had started hunting with their father again; a whole year had passed since Dean had last seen his father. Sam didn't even want to remember his last real encounter with his father since it had not been too pleasant.

John however had thought, apparently, that his sons had changed nothing from the two boys he had following him around answering his every order. Sam knew- always had- more about Dean then was possible for John to know. Though he always admired the relationship between Dean and their father, he knew that it was just the chain of command to John and a memory of the old John to Dean. Sam and Dean held a stronger bond. That bond spoke to him even, especially, when Dean wouldn't. And right now, that bond was telling him that Dean needed a moment to cool off.

Leave it to John to not know this little fact about his own son and start in on him as soon as the last words slip from Dean's lips. And leave it to him to press the little buttons of control that Dean had managed to not tick off.

"Dean," he started taking a small step towards the younger man. Dean still held his head in his hands and refused to look up to meet his father's gaze. Unfazed by the lack of response and backed with the knowledge that Dean was in fact listening to him, John continued his ravaged reprimand.

"I don't know what you think you're doing right now, but you better calm yourself down. Real fast…"

Dean however had already started in his own rampage and he was way too old to be intimidated into silence. He dropped his hands and was surprised that they shimmered with the tears that they had captured. He maintained his gaze towards the floor. He knew that if he did face his father, his upbringing would kick in and he would shut his mouth good and hard.

"No," he said with a little shake of the head. He spoke calmly at first, this being his father and all, but his voice seemed to escalate once again as he spoke. "I don't need to calm down. I'm always the one to back off. You two, God!, you two are teeth and nails and you couldn't care less about anything else. Just getting your goddamn way and I'm just about sick of it!

"You'd think that after all this time apart, you two would grow the fuck up and start understanding each other. But no! That's impossible. Not in you. And why should now be any different!!" Dean was staring straight ahead now, avoiding his father and his brother but not hanging down anymore. His breath was starting to come in hard wavered intervals.

John looked like he was to cut in, but Dean was intended on continuing. If he was going to get killed at least his father should know his whole view points.

"And now that both of you have the same revenge thing working for you, you think that you'd try and help each other and not starting biting at each others' throats! No! You bitch at each other and then expect me to put you two back together! Well, that's not my job!!" Now he was looking at John. He had gathered enough momentum to keep this little monologue going. If he kept this a monologue and prevented John, or even the silenced Sam, from speaking then he would be all out and they wouldn't be able to say anything because they'd all know he was right.

Sam took a step forward, mirroring John's position to the left of Dean. It looked like they were preparing to ambush him. Or at least John looked it; he knew that Sam wouldn't take him out for exploding like this.

"If I have to be the one to take these people to _safety_," Dean emphasized nudging his head towards the small crowd retreated in the back corner of the large basement. "Or if I have to finish this damn thing of myself then just tell me!! You two obviously can't handle this anymore.

"This isn't something to be taken lightly! These are _human lives_ here!" Dean said, this time pointing out the obvious victims. This motion caused Sam to look at them and noticed that the two women held frightened looks. He tried to offer them a smile but felt it come off a little weak.

"Have you forgotten what that means?! Are you that dense and self involved! And… goddamn you two can't you just shut the fuck up long enough to finish something!!!"

And then Dean did something completely unexpected. He took off his second, back-up gun and his knife and dropped them on the floor. He then backed away from the weapons as if they were harmful to him now. As if they were the source of all his discontent.

Then, he turned and ran off pass Sam and up the stairs.

He kept running until he reached his precious baby. And then, he kept running towards the woods some half a mile from where they were. He had breached a border and had lost control. He knew off only one outlet.

Back in the basement, Sam and John watched as Dean flew past them and away. They heard as he hurried further away and out of the house.

Sam turned and saw his own feelings mirrored on his father's face. It was a rare split second but John was full of wonder and worry and fear and possibly regret.

"Dad?" Sam asked real soft like. He had never, not ever seen Dean erupt like this. And then worse yet, storm off. He wanted to go after him, but the truth was, he wasn't even sure that he could do anything to help Dean out right now. The only thing that would help Dean would be him and their father to stop arguing. The sun was setting and the darkness was coming and the Winchester men were no closer to finding this damn thing then they had been earlier this morning. And now they were even one man down.

John shrugged in response to Sam's question. He had never seen Dean like this either. His son had always been, well exemplary in following a command. Though he had always stood up for Sammy, Dean had never taken an actual attack to John or Sam for that matter. Something was seriously wrong.

Sam walked up to the weapons, intended to pick them up and have them at the ready if Dean was to return. WHEN! When Dean returned.

Sam stopped as he mentally went over Dean's inventory. Two guns and one knife. Something was missing.

_If Dean returns._ The thought returned to him as he realized why Dean had ran off so fast for.

With a new look of fear, and praying that his father didn't ask for an explanation, Sam turned and managed to tell his father one thing before he too flew up the stairs and out the door.

"Dad, Dean still has his pocketknife."

tbc...WED.


	2. First

**WARNINGS: Self-Mutilation, Language; Insults not tintended to offend anyone personally.**

**Disclaimer: Winchesters are not mine. Let's all be sad together.**

**Departing** **Thoughts**

_(FB) Dean's first big failure leads to his first real relief..._

**Firsts**

By: chocolate rules

All he had to do was stand guard. He didn't have to fight the big scary monster, that's what Dad was there for. Heck, he didn't even have to look the damn thing up; Sam was becoming really useful in that department. All Dean had to do was stand guard and he was usually really good in that.

Until that day he heard the cry.

It sounded like a little girl's cry out of pain. Like a little Sammy, to tell the truth. It was coming from somewhere in the basement. His father was upstairs roaming through the haunted mansions rooms. That's where the real terrors always occurred. And since the cry came from the basement, Dean saw no reason as to why he couldn't go and find out what had made that sound. After all, he was supposed to be guarding the area.

He slowly descended down the stairs. His hunter instincts and light footwork made it a speedy trip down into the cold room.

He smelt it before he saw it. Copper. Iron. Whatever it was supposed to smell like. All around him the smell of blood grew. All his instincts and training and well youth maybe told him that the right thing to do was turning his ass around and find his father and let _him_ deal with whatever it was that was in the basement.

However, his bullheaded tough guy mood kicked in and Dean found himself stepping further away from the steps. The basement was like the rest of the house; huge, decorated and clearly defining its room value and intent. This room was like all other basement in that it had an area with the washing and drying machines and the heating system. It also had two rooms, one of which had it's door slightly opened and was revealing a shimmer of white light that Dean had thought to be the streetlamps or the security that had been placed in the house five years ago when it was still housing people.

Cautiously, Dean pushed back the door open. He had expected…well, he hadn't really expected anything since he really didn't know the usage of these rooms in the basement. But he knew he _hadn't_ been expecting this.

Dean's eyes grew wide as he watched a dark figure come closer to not just one but two little girls, maybe eight years in age. They were, needless to say, terrified and grabbed at each other in an effort to comfort the other and seek protection from the other. Neither was proving to be doing any good.

The figure held what Dean recognized as a machete. It glimmered against the lights that had been coming from the street like Dean had suspected.

No one had been in that house for years. Ever since that little boy had been killed by "unseen forces". He had been forced from the top flight of stairs over the banister and unto the hard marble foyer. He had died instantly, his four year old body not being able to handle that impact. There had been talk about what had happened to make the boy fall like that. It was not a secret to anyone that the boy was a little, dare he say, normal like his older siblings had been at his age. The little boy had Down syndrome and not only that but he was way too weak to be able to pull himself over the banister. All the family and servants loved the innocent little man and so it was a given that no one had deliberately thrown him over it. He seemed to have come straight down, almost hovering from the middle of the foyer's ceiling, and onto the floor.

Now, what lied in front of him brought a whole now meaning of demonic terror to Dean.

One girl, a brunette with her hair twisted up in a bun but with some of it sticking up and off the sides, was dripping of blood from her head. Her would be yellow sweatshirt was now also a nice shade of red. She held onto the other girl more protectively, chin resting on the second girl's head.

The other girl was much smaller than her friend. She was blonde, but her hair was cut out like a young boy's. She looked weak and Dean noted her leg braces. She was practically slumped onto the other girl. Unresponsive to the oncoming death.

Dean grabbed his .99mm from his waistband and wasted no time as he pulled off the safety and cocked the gun. The sound was rewarded with the figure's attention as Dean pointed his weapon towards the damn thing's heart.

And then the damn thing let out an ear piercing whine. Mind-blowing and deafening at the same time, it took all in Dean to not drop to his knees as he grabbed for his head. Another yell as the damn thing drew closer to him and Dean did drop to his knees.

Seconds later, he felt its fingers in his hair, pulling his head back. It hissed on his face and Dean tried to pull away, but found that any movement caused his head to rattle.

The machete was quickly placed on his smooth neck. It inhaled and Dean briefly wondered if after all the crap in his life, _this_ was to be his defining moment.

But the thing just tossed him aside. Like he didn't know that Dean was a Winchester and that he would soon bounce back, ready and aiming. Like he couldn't feel the power and strength emitting from the young boy.

It returned to the girls now. Dean's eyes parted slightly and he was in direct view of the threat. He tried rising but found his body aching from a sharp object on his back. He had been lounged into something and he couldn't remove himself from it. The creature kneeled down in front of the girls. Dean yelled at it, trying to get its attention, but found that his voice had been reduced to a mere whisper.

The figure brushed his fingers through the brunette's hair. Dean could hear her whimper and saw as she tried to back away from the touch. But, as the figure did get to the girl, it didn't mistreat her. It seemed fond of her, almost like it _liked _her. He turned away from her and towards the other girl. Had Dean not been staring at them, he would have missed the blonde's eyes lift up to the figure.

The figure didn't seem to have missed his. While her eyes pleaded with him, he growled in _disgust _towards her. In a second's time, it stood up and grabbed the girl by the neck.

"No!!!!" cried the brunette, "Leave her alone!"

The silenced Dean was yelling the same thing as he thought he heard the distinct sound of laughter emit from the figure.

With a force not known to man, the man tossed her upwards to have her fall like a rag on the carpet covered concrete. Dean heard the unmistakable sounds of her bones crashing and the blond began to pour from her head, nose, and mouth. Dean closed his eyes and heard himself whimper.

He was defenseless. He was useless. He couldn't even protect this girl. What if it had been Sammy? And here he was, stuck to a wall. A pathetic excuse for a hunter, _a warrior_. No, he was a failure.

Before entering the dark, Dean saw the unmistakable figure of his father entering the room at full run. He barely managed trying to shoot at the figure as it shimmered away. The girl's body lied on the floor, the pool of blood surrounding her small fragile form. The other girl sat crying, curled up tightly in a ball, hugging and rocking herself. Then, John spotted Dean on the far side of the room, watching it all.

"Oh shit," he said as he rushed to the young boy's side. Dean closed his eyes as his father lightly grasped his shoulders. His last thought were that maybe he shouldn't have pushed for his father to let him come on this hunt and then have him screw it all up. He hoped John wasn't too mad….

Dean awoke in the hospital a few hours later. He could hear the distinct sound that was his father and another man talking. They sounded, worried and concerned. Dean could also make out the unmistakable sound of Sammy snoring on a chair somewhere to his right.

His eyes fluttered opened and it took him a few seconds to adjust to the light. John and a doctor man were talking at the foot of his bed. They had their backs to both boys as an attempt to keep whatever was being said a secret. Dean tried to listen but found that his head was ramming like it had back in the basement.

All the images and the pain came flooding back to him in an unexpected tsunami of emotion and suffering. Dean let out a loud yelled as he arched off the bed in pain.

John and the doctor were at his side in a second. Sammy was stirred awake but he seemed to know to keep back for now. Dean started to thrash around and John had to hold him down. Dean was yelling about something to back off her, to not kill her, to take him instead. They all froze at his words. John kept a strong hold on him and a few seconds later Dean stopped moving all together. He looked around as if nothing had happened. Sammy was now at the foot of his bed watching all this, having completely ignored his father's claim at leaving the room.

Dean was given a sedative. Not really common for a kid his age, but the doctor assured them that with trauma causes, it was safer at the beginning, to help the transition take place.

He went home two days later. He stayed in bed for three days and when Sammy wasn't in school he laid down with him. Dean wasn't sure at the time if it was to comfort himself or Dean, but he was grateful for the little one's intentions.

Five days after the incident, the nightmares started. The medication had mainly worn off and everything was flooding back to him. His mind however, warped the memory and convinced Dean that in all actuality it _had_ all been his fault. It wasn't like the images changed. The memory was all the same. But Dean had changed. His guilt was overwhelming him as a phrase kept playing in his mind. _Failure_.

In the middle of that fifth night, Dean found himself walking into the bathroom. He shivered from the memory and was praying for a relief.

John had just informed them that the demon, it had been a demon the whole time, seemed interested in weak children. The first victim had Down syndrome, the next was autistic, the next was blind, and this last girl had had cancer. It had left the second girl and Dean alone because they were strong, fighters and the demon wanted to rid the world of the weak. A speed method to survival of the fittest.

Dean had paled at that statement. It had been bad enough thinking that he had failed the little girl because he was weak, but a whole new feeling of disgust and failure come over him. He was still alive because he was _strong._

"Son, you okay?" John asked, concern in his voice. Dean didn't look up from where he was watching his grip tighten on his hands. John noticed the white knuckled grip and rose towards his boy. "Dean?"

"I'm fine, Dad." Dean said as he jolted up and went towards his room. "M'going to bed. Night."

John watched as Dean left and was in a worried trance until he heard his youngest speak.

"Daddy, why is Dean go to bed at seven? Do I have to go to bed early too?"

"No, Sammy. Dean's just tired." John reassured him as he reached down and picked the small boy up. "He's been through a lot lately."

"He gonna be ok?" Sammy asked eyes showing all signs of fear and worry and the tears ran down freely.

John hugged the boy tightly as Sammy wrapped his arms around John's neck and gripped onto him like it was the only thing keeping him stable.

"He's going to be just fine," John whispered. Yet, as he watched the emptied hallway and closed door, he wondered how much truth those words held.

Dean closed he door behind him and turned on the bathroom light. He had waited until he was certain that John was out for the night. Sammy had gone to bed around nine and had been blissfully sleeping for the last four hours. Dean opened the medicine cabinet and slowly took out his father's razor.

He pulled off a blade and fingered it, knowing that once he did this, there was no going back. However, the pain that was steadily growing inside him was so strong that he knew he had no other choice. With a final deep breath, Dean gripped the blade with his right hand. It trembled as it neared his left wrist and Dean felt a tear slip past his tightened shield. The sharp blade penetrated his skin and the red liquid bubbled to the surface. His right hand steady as Dean let out a sigh of relief. Along with it went a little bit of the pain. A little more with the second line and he knew he could go to sleep after the third.

He cleaned himself and wrapped his arm. Grateful that it was mid December and his father had been forcing him to wear clothing to bed, Dean pulled down his pajama sleeve and replaced the cleaned blade.

He entered his room and at the sight of Sammy, the wave of guilt and worry began again. _What if it had been Sammy?_

Dean walked towards Sammy's bed and watched as the eight year old slept peacefully. His innocence still intact and Dean was determined that it would remain that way forever. What about Sammy? He asked himself. Sammy was by no means weak. He was just a little kid but he was learning to fight and he could manage his own need be. It would never have been Sammy. It would never _be_ Sammy.

Dean crawled into Sammy's bed and Sammy curled into him. Dean held him tightly and thinking back to his last few days and what he'd just done, he really hoped that he was right. _God, let it never be Sammy._ For Sammy, three lines wouldn't be enough.

tbc..._Friday_...And is the rating too high? I'm thinnking it might be...


	3. Run

**WARNINGS: Self-Mutilation, Language; Insults not tintended to offend anyone personally.**

**Disclaimer: Winchesters are not mine. Let's all be sad together.**

**Departing** **Thoughts**

_Sam has to get to Dean before its too late..._

**Run**

By: chocolate rules

'He can't be doing this,' Sam told himself. 'Please let him not be doing this.'

Sam ran as fast and as hard as he could up the stairs. He was on the ground floor in a matter of seconds and out the door. He had hoped he would have found Dean leaned against the Impala, trying to pull himself together. He wanted all his worries shattered and to be told that they were pointless.

But Dean wasn't there. Dean wasn't anywhere in sight.

'Oh God, Dean where are you?' Sam asked his unavailable brother. He hadn't been gone that long and he should be heard running. But there was nothing. And an angered Dean was a Dean with inhuman capabilities.

Sam remembered passing through a forest to get to the mansion and was just about to run off in that direction when he heard something from behind him.

The victims were coming up; there were two women, a man, and a young girl. None remembered how they had gotten there, according to Sam's research anyway. They all moved towards the cars and Sam hung his head. He had to get to Dean, now before it was too late.

"What the hell is the matter with you two?" John asked as he stormed towards Sam with the bag of weapons in his arms. It was partially opened; exposing Dean's shotgun and Sam figured that John had placed all of Dean's discarded weapons in there.

"Do you seriously think that _that's _what you should be asking right now? How about something a little more heartfelt, like _where's Dean?_ Or even…no that's it." Sam said amazed at his own attitude. So, Dean was right, between him and their dad there was never anything but arguments and angered thoughts.

"So that's it then, your brother goes insane and you bail in the middle of a hunt?"

"DAD! What the hell! God, he's right! We fight on everything! But this isn't Dean's fault. Don't you get what's going on?" Sam tried to explain. However, he knew that his raised tone was a surefire way to not get his father to listen to him. He sounded like a child when he argued and that's the last thing you want to sound like in front of your own father when you're trying to get a point through.

"That's no reason to…"

"Stop him from hurting himself? Cause that's what's going to happen if I don't find him." Sam said in a lower sort of yell. He then did another scan and knew for certain that there would be no other place for Dean to go then that forested road half a mile away. He grabbed Dean's forgotten .9mm and turned saying, "I don't have time for this. I want to find him while he's still alive." And with that he took off in a run down the road towards his wayward brother.

tbc...


	4. Caught

******WARNINGS: Self-Mutilation, Language; Insults not tintended to offend anyone personally.**

**Disclaimer: Winchesters are not mine. Let's all be sad together.**

**Departing** **Thoughts**

_(FB) After years of hiding it from John, it's Sammy that finds Dean in his glory..._

**Caught**

By: chocolate rules

_The lights are out. The house is asleep. It's dark out. And nightmares creep. _

Dean tossed and turned all night for the third night in a row. He's shivering against the humid summer day. Sweat hangs from every stand of hair as it drips onto his face. He's whimpering and moaning. The images plague his mind, tormenting him.

With a final twist, Dean bolts up on his bed and barely manages to hold in a yell.

He's dripping in his own sweat and his eyes have already adjusted to the dark night, but Dean knows that won't help him any. He rises from his bed, as quietly as possible so as to not disturb Sammy sleeping in the other bed. He makes his way out of the room and closes the door softly behind him.

The fourteen year old is panting and can't breathe. If he wouldn't have known, he would have thought he was hyperventilating. But, after two years, Dean knew exactly what was wrong.

He messed up again. They went on a hunt that night and Dean screwed up, big time. Once again, he was supposed to protect the innocents, not get them hurt.

He was watching over the trapped girls while his father went after the poltergeist. It was simple enough, keep them together and keep them safe. At first he was bored, the girls were seven, ten and eleven, and those weren't the kind of girls for Dean. Then, they got to talking and he found out that Tabby, the ten year old, loved ACDC almost as much as he did. And then Katy, eleven, mentioned that Metallic could kick ACDC's ass, and Dean decided that this was one argument he didn't mind having. With Janie safe in his lap, the two hours he spent with the girls actually wasn't too bad. But Dean underestimated the poltergeist.

As he was trying to get Tabby to stop screaming the lyrics to Dirty Deeds, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Dean stopped as he paid closer attention to the changing temperature of the room.

Before he could do anything, the girls sensed it too. They got silent all of a sudden and then something pulled Tabby right from them. She went flying through the wall into the hallway and was crying for Dean the entire time.

Dean stood up and grabbed his shotgun, placing Janie down next to Katy. He ran to Tabby and kneeled down beside her.

"Tabby?" Dean whispered to the fragile body beside him. "Tab?" And again, he received no response. He reached out to feel for a pulse or something, but found nothing. Then, finally a faint beat began beneath his fingers.

Katy and Janie started to make their way towards them.

"Is she okay, Dean?" Katy asked in a very innocent voice.

"Stay there, okay!" Dean barked out. He didn't know how to answer that and he wasn't into lying to little kids, but he knew that they couldn't see their sister like this.

"Dean?" said Janie. Dean turned around and gave them a sad look. Janie turned around and clung tightly to Katy and they both cried.

"She's…she's alive," offered Dean, but he couldn't even make himself believe it.

Tabby lied on her back. Blood was growing around her in a steady stream. Flashbacks from the blond girl in the basement began playing thorough his mind. The blood. Her tragic ending. The aftermath.

"Hey, Tabby, open those pretty eyes." Nothing. Dean felt his throat clump up. "Hey, Tab, I think Katy wants a rematch. You going to let her win like that?"

Dean felt again for a pulse and was happy enough to know that it was at least somewhat stronger. But it was still weak and that bothered him. He knew what had attacked them, but he didn't know why. John had told him that they'd be safe in that room. That the poltergeist left the guest rooms alone because no one had ever lived there in the first place.

Yet, here he was crunched down beside a shattered girl. A girl's whose life lied between life and death. A girl _he_ was supposed to _protect_.

Dean fumbled around for his cell phone as he rose from beside Tabby. Tears were starting to form in his eyes but he ignored them. He called John and told him what had happened. John told him to not touch her and to get the other girls outside. He told him to call 911.

Dean opened his eyes from the memory and found himself shaking. He closed his eyes again, only to find the image of Tabby in a stretcher, being pulled from the house. The paramedics had said that the fall had broken something in her spine. She was never going to walk again, and it was too soon to know if she'd be able to do anything else.

Dean drew a shaky breathe as he pulled himself away from the wall. He softly walked past his father's room, where John lied sleeping, and made it into the bathroom without any incidents.

He closed the bathroom door softly and turned on the lights. He had started shaving a few months ago, and so no longer needed his father's razor for this task. Sammy had made fun of him saying that he didn't need it because he had no beard and Dean had retaliated that that was the point of shaving. The truth was, when his father had offered, all Dean could think about was that with his own razor, he wouldn't need to take his father's and that would minimize the possibility of him getting caught.

Dean was always careful that John never noticed his marks. He always wore a jacket so it was easy to conceal them on a hunt, but at home he usually opted to go only in boxers and that would minimize his areas of possible relief. And since that area included _that_ area, Dean wasn't that crazy about it.

He slipped out a blade and set the razor down on the sink ledge. He walked over to the edge of the tub and sat down on it. He reached over to the toilet paper and grabbed enough to wrap around his hand three times. Then, Dean pulled up the short boxer leg of his left leg and began to slice.

The first slice was always for whatever he had screwed up on lately. It took away the most immediate pain. The first slice always brought out a sigh of relief. The second slice was for guilt. He felt that he deserved some pain after causing Tabby's paralyzes, or all the other tragedy's he caused the last two years. And the last slice was always for Sammy. Because if Dean wasn't more careful, next time it could be Sammy. And that could never happen.

He never heard the door, but he heard the gasp. Dean dropped the blade on the floor, missing his toe by inches and looked up to meet Sammy's shocked face.

"Oh my God," he whispered. Sammy stared at Dean's leg for what felt like an eternity. Dean couldn't move and couldn't cover the wound. His left hand held the toilet paper below the wound to collect the wayward drips.

Sammy made to turn around and Dean knew that the boy would run to their father. He acted then standing up and grabbing Sammy around the waist. Dean lifted the ten year old and turned him around back into the bathroom, setting him down on the toilet seat cover.

"Shhh," Dean instructed, placing his hand over Sammy's mouth. Sammy's eyes were filled with terror and sleep and all Dean could do was question were his senses had been. How had he not felt Sammy open the bedroom door? Usually, he could be in the kitchen and sense when Sammy was trying to sneak out of his room past his bedtime.

"Please Sammy, please don't scream." Pleaded Dean. After a few seconds, Sammy slowly nodded and Dean let him go. He was dripping the blood onto Sammy's pajama bottom and onto the floor. The linoleum tiles could be wiped clean, but the evidence remained on Sammy's clothes. If there was evidence then Dean couldn't fool himself into thinking that this didn't really happen. That they were all only dreams of what he sometimes wished he would do, but nothing he would actually do.

He sat back down on the bathtub edge and this time placed his head in his hands. They both stayed like that for a minute or two before Sammy spoke up.

"Dean? What happened?"

"I ...cut myself…" Dean tried to make up a lie. But he couldn't lie to Sammy, even if he still hadn't looked up to him.

"Why Dean?" Sammy's innocent little boy voice asked. Dean shrugged and he could hear Sammy taking in a sharp breath.

He couldn't lie to Sammy; the ten year old was practically a baby in Dean's eyes. There was no way that he could tell him why. Sam hadn't been there and it was so much for the better, because Dean knew that once Sammy had seen that kind of evil around then he wouldn't be the same sweet little guy that he was now. Sure, Sammy knew what was out there, but John hadn't yet taken him to hunt, and even if Sam complained that Dean had been allowed, having both Dad and Dean agree that he was still too little meant he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

Dean finally lifted his head and looked up to Sammy. They locked eyes and Dean watched as Sammy's started to water. _God, _he thought, _the boy can still cry if he feels something. He's so small, I can't. He shouldn't ever have seen this._

Sammy seemed to understand that Dean wasn't going to tell him, because not one second after, he leaped up and wrapped his arms around Dean's neck. He cried onto Dean's shoulder and Dean hated knowing that he was the cause for those tears.

"Ok, Dean. Don't tell me. It's okay." Sammy started. Dean wrapped his own arms around the boy. God Bless Sammy, the boy always seemed to understand him.

"I'm sorry, Sammy."

"Promise me you'll tell me someday." Sammy said out of the blue. Dean hadn't thought of that and didn't know how to respond. Sam pulled away and looked straight into Dean's eyes.

Damn Sammy and those eyes because before Dean could control himself, he nodded. Sammy's face lit up some and he went back into the warmth of the hug. They held each other for a few minutes, before Sammy once again pulled back and wiped away his tears. He looked down at the wounds and nodded, as if accepting them for what they were.

"I'm gonna clean you and get some band aids and then you'll be okay." He said. He looked up and flashed Dean a genuine, however remotely weak, smile. Sammy turned around and reached into the cabinet underneath the sink and pulled out the first aid kit.

The ten year old had gained a lot of schooling in this department lately. He had spent the weekend with Caleb and Caleb had taken the time to teach Sammy the 'basics'. He had taught him how to clean a wound and how to tell if it'd need stitches or not. And how to administer them if need be. Caleb had told Sammy that the next time he went; he could actually dissect a dead cat!

Dean watched as Sammy cleaned and bandaged his sliced leg. He knew that there would be no scarring since he hadn't cut that deeply. Not yet anyway.

As he watched Sammy's new skills unveil, he became mesmerized in the youngster's technique. Sammy was still nervous, but he got the job done. Then, for good measure, Sammy placed the little kiddie band aids, the ones with smiling faces of different colors, on the cuts.

"All done," he stated as he placed everything back into the kit. As he rose to put the kit back he locked eyes with Dean. As Dean mindlessly wondered when the heck the boy had gained or learned of his power over him, he watched Sammy's face turn serious.

"I won't tell, Dean." He said softly. Dean nodded. He knew that Sammy could keep this to himself.

"Dad will never know as long as you never do this again." Sammy challenged. Dean gave him a skeptical look at this.

"Sammy…"

"No, Dean. This is dangerous! You lost a whole lot of blood…"Sam started. He was going on in a no nonsense tone and being the little one in Dean's eyes, the tone wasn't helping.

"Look, Sammy," he interrupted. "I know this looks bad. I know you're scared. But, everything's okay." Dean said in his calming, big brother is always right voice.

"No, Dean," Sammy said with a sigh. Suddenly, he looked like there was a weight on him and Dean knew he was guilty for it. "It's wrong. I know it is. You're not 'posed to hurt _yourself_. And, and if I see you do that again, well then I'm telling Daddy."

And without waiting for a response, Sammy turned around and headed back out to their room.

Now Dean felt like shit. He'd been caught, not by Dad like he had feared, but by Sammy. And there was nothing like the terror in his eyes. Terror Dean never wanted to see again.

A few minutes later, Dean entered the room again and found Sam curled up in his own bed turned away from Dean and the door. Knowing the little one like he did, Dean knew the boy wasn't sleeping. Now, he could either ignore this, and get into his own bed, or…

Dean eased himself onto Sammy's bed. He waited and sure enough, Sammy turned around, tears streaming, and looked at him. Before the kid could say anything or try and get Dean to promise something else, Dean spoke.

"Listen, kiddo. I'm sorry I scared you like that. I never meant for you to find me like that."

"I woke up…and you weren't there." He said softly. Well, Dean had figured that much.

"Nightmare?" Sammy shook his head no. "Then?" Sammy shrugged.

"You just weren't there. I got scared." Dean placed his hand on the little boy's forehead and brushed away the long strands.

"I'm sorry."

"I know. But, then when I found you, I wasn't sure if that was you. I wanted to call for you but thought better to go for Daddy."

"I know. I'm sorry." He repeated. "It must have been very scary for you" Sammy nodded. A few tears dripped to his cheek.

Dean sighed and brushed the tear away with his thumb. "I'm done. No more."

Sammy leaped up again and for the second time that night clung onto Dean. "Thanks." He said.

He sounded so happy by that promise that Dean made it for real in his head. Never again would he allow for Sammy to go through that. And with that new resolution, Dean crawled into Sammy's bed and slept better than he had planned to that night.

tbc...Monday, if the alerts are up...:D


	5. Hide

**WARNINGS: Self-Mutilation, Language; Insults not tintended to offend anyone personally. **

**Disclaimer: Winchesters are not mine. Let's all be sad together.**

**Departing** **Thoughts**

_Dean's attempt to stray awa from his brother and father to find comfort..._

**Hide**

By: chocolate rules

God! He couldn't breathe! The pressure was growing and his alarmingly fast speed wasn't helping calm his heart.

Dean didn't think he'd ever feel safe enough to stop, but thirty minutes of running in the woods he found a clearing. He leaned back on an old maple tree and started to regain his breath.

Why did the yelling always do this to him? Why couldn't they just stop and think about _him_ for once? He was always the one to have to listen to all their bickering. He was both of their confidants. God! How was he supposed to chose?

The answer was always the same, he couldn't. And then what would happen? Dad would get mad at him because he couldn't make Sammy understand. Then, to make matters worse, Sammy would get mad at him because he couldn't keep Dad off of him and because he always followed Dad's orders.

But how was he not supposed to do those things? He loved them both so much! Dad was always there protecting him and had showed him everything he knew. Dad had told Dean about all the bad things but then again Dad had given him Sammy. And Dean wouldn't be anything without Sammy. Sammy understood him, better than anyone. Okay, that may disturb him some but it didn't make it any less true. Sam was his one constant, even when he had left. Dad was unpredictable half the time, but Sammy was always the same.

Always curious and always loyal. Sammy wore his heart on his sleeve and he'd be damned if that wasn't what he had always need. If he didn't have Sammy to love and care for, then he'd be bitter and hateful. He'd be like… Dad.

These realizations didn't help calm Dean any. They just spoke of things he had always known. He'd always known that he was torn between them and sometimes he just needed to get away from it all. Sometimes they drove him so far over the edge that he couldn't even think clearly. Like today. Today he wasn't in control, that's why he ran. Dean was afraid that he was going to do something crazy.

And yet here he was about to do something crazy.

_Well_, he thought as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the switchblade, _it's been too long to go back now._ Without any hesitation, Dean lifted his left sleeve and with his right hand shaking slightly, the lines took life and the pain slowly started to die.

tbc...Friday :D


	6. Tears

******WARNINGS: Self-Mutilation, Language; Insults not tintended to offend anyone personally.**

**Disclaimer: Winchesters are not mine. Let's all be sad together.**

Freefall: Thanks! Your review made me grin like mad :D! I'm glad that you're enjoying this!

**Departing** **Thoughts**

_(FB) Dean tries not to break his promise to Sammy, as he fails again - this time Sam..._

**Tears**

By: chocolate rules

Sammy was right. The cutting wasn't helping the pain. Since he stopped the cutting all he had felt was more pain. So much pain that he had caused and some he had been victim to. The cutting had only masked it.

This knowledge didn't make it any easier as he stood in front of the mirror, razor in his hand. He stood frozen as he stared at the shiny silver blades. He could picture them cutting through his paper-thin skin, three thin lines. He could picture the blood emerging. He could practically smell the iron…

"Are you _ever_ coming out!?" came the annoyed voice of the eleven year old. Hearing Sammy's voice pulled Dean out of his trance.

"Wait your turn!" he called back.

"But, I've gotta _go!_" came Sammy's voice once more.

"Well, I'm still in here." Dean said, he stared at the razor and then to the mirrored image of his face half shaven, half covered with the shaving cream.

"Can't I just go? I won't be long, I promise!" and Dean could practically see Sammy dancing around trying to hold it in. Dean shook his head, and knowing damn well that the kid was capable of pissing all over himself; he leaned back and unlocked the door.

"Fine, but make it quick." Dean said opening the door.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you…" Sammy replied as he rushed the three feet to the toilet. He looked so much in bliss that Dean started laughing.

"Dude, I told you to go before I got in here."

"I didn't have to go then!" Sam protested, in true little kid fashion - full on pout.

"Whatever," Dean said. He took another look at the razor in his hand and could have kicked himself, knowing that Sammy would get the message he wasn't trying to show.

"Dean, what're you doing?" came his worried voice.

"Don't worry, kid. I'm just shaving." And to prove his point he continues his slow process. He still felt Sam's gaze on him and the knowledge that those questioning knowing eyes were watching him made him very uneasy.

"Uh, Sam, you done yet?" he asked knowing full well that the kid had finished but that he had other things on his mind.

Sam sighed, knowing that he was being thrown out and flushed. "Yeah, yeah, I'm going." He said, walking towards the sink. Normally, Sam wasn't so clean and would probably run out of the bathroom once he was done. Like most little kids, he found that washing his hands or brushing his teeth was a real waste of time, time that could be spent playing. But being the responsible older brother and care giver he was, Dean always made him do that kind of stuff.

As he stood beside Dean, Sam's eyes wondered around the sink for any type of rushed cover up to hide any blood.

"Don't leave the water running like that." Dean said not looking away from his reflection. Sam rolled his eyes as he placed his now very soapy hands in the running water. Once he was finished, he stood by his brother once again drying his hands. He watched as Dean shaved and marveled, like most little boys do, at his precise motions. He watched as Dean passed the razor over his Adams apple and released a breath he didn't know he was holding when the razor passed it with no further intrusion.

"I think they're dry now." Dean said, once again not looking away from his reflection. Sam took the towel and placed it back on the towel rack. His worry had not decrease any since the time he saw his brother bleed himself. It had been only a few months and he was still watching Dean closely.

He slowly walked past Dean into the hall and was about to close the door behind him when he remembered something.

"Oh, Dean, Dad says to hurry up, that we're leaving in twenty minutes." Dean stopped shaving and turned his head to look at his brother.

"And how long ago was _that_?"

"Umm, ten minutes ago…"

"Sam! Why didn't you tell me this! Dude, I'm not done shaving and I'm still in a freakin towel!" Sammy just shrugged.

"Don't tell me that, go tell Dad." And he closed the door behind him. Dean huffed angrily at the door, silently vowed to get the youngster back and proceeded to quickly finish shaving.

Ten minutes later, John came into their room as a still towel clad Dean pranced around his room trying to find some clean clothes.

"Dean, come on get a move on. We're leaving." John said from the door.

"I'm coming!" Dean said as he threw yet another blood stained shirt out the dresser. He turned around and then ducked under the bed as his father watched him questioningly.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"M'looking for something to wear." Dean called back from beneath the bed.

"Your room's littered with your clothes." John pointed out eyeing all the various articles of clothing that appeared all over everything.

"I'm looking for something _clean_." Dean called back.

"Well, then when we get back, you go do your laundry." John ordered. He took a hesitant step into the room and towards the dresser as another shirt followed by a pair of boxers came flying out from beneath the bed.

"What the…" John said at the flying clothes. He reached into the dresser and pulled out some clothes, and found them clean just not 'up to standard' to the boy now sprawled on the floor.

He placed the dark orange shirt and a few other clean clothes on Dean's bed.

"Get dressed," he ordered kicking Dean's leg gently, meaning now. Dean appeared from below the bed.

"I have nothing to wear." He complains as if John hadn't heard the previous statement. John shook his head towards the bed.

"Downstairs in five." He said. He turned around and left the boy to dress.

Dean got up and eyed his father's clothes selection with disgust. There was a reason he didn't wear that shirt. I mean, orange are you kidding me. He contemplated continuing his search but knew damn well that he couldn't be late. He didn't need his father to be mad at him right before a hunt. That's a sure fire way to get the crappy lookout position with Sammy.

In four minutes, a very disgruntled fifteen year old made his way to the kitchen and grabbed a few slices of bread along with some cheese and ham slices from the fridge. He then grabbed his weapon's bag and headed out the door just as his father called out for Sammy to turn off the TV and get in the car.

The hunt was simple enough. However, it was a four hour ride and this made both of the boys very, very unpleased. Two hours in, Sammy started complaining about, well everything. It took every amount of Winchester strength for both of the elder occupants not to turn around in their seat and smack the kid. On the three hour mark, Dean turned around and reached over, smacking Sam upside the head.

"Hey! Dad!" Sam yelled out. John's response was to pull Dean back into his seat and give him a reprimanding look. He couldn't say anything though, because he was five minutes away from doing the same thing.

Half an hour later, Dean started fussing around. He was bored and his father's choice in 'music' was not helping. He took out a gun from the glove compartment and started to take it apart. Once he did that, he quickly put it back together and started to take it apart again. When he restarted this cycle, John reached over and grabbed the gun, quickly tossed it into the glove compartment once more. Then he spent three minutes telling Dean that guns weren't play things and that he shouldn't be using them as a distraction. Or at least, that's what Dean hopes he was saying since he found more interest in the passing scenery than in his father's lecture.

Finally, after four hours, the Winchesters reached their destination. John went to investigate some last minute things, leaving the boys to eat at the local diner.

Two hours, three cheeseburgers and one and a half medium cartons of fries later, the Winchester boys stood besides a very creepy looking, and weird smelling (according to Sammy), old mansion. The mansion, or local haunted house, was rumored to house the murdered family that had once occupied the residence.

John didn't think too much of them. He had heard the tale a few years before, but the family only seemed to ward off some unreeling teens. Since he was all out for kids learning their lessons one way or another, he didn't think about vanishing the spirits. Until recently, it hadn't killed anyone.

Now, if you're a spirit and you kill an innocent, you will soon find yourself up against one John Winchester, it was only a matter of when.

The boys were supposed to just monitor the surroundings. In reality, John would have left them at home. However, both boys had recently gotten themselves into trouble and leaving them alone would only give them room to go out and cause even more chaos.

As Dean lingered by the car, Sam started walking around.

"Don't get near the house!" Dean called out to him once Sam was a good thirty feet away from him. The thing with mansions, especially those built some 100 years ago, was that they had a lot of property space.

"I know!" Sam called back, still walking towards the building.

"I mean it!" Dean said. John had told them to wait by the car, it was getting dark out and he wanted to be finished with the house before the spirits 'awoke'.

Sam stopped walking and turned around and started to walk back towards the car. Dean relaxed some against the car's frame and watched the old building. He wasn't paying attention to Sam, but he did notice when his footsteps stop moving towards him.

Dean looked back at his brother to find the boy turned looking back at the building. He had walked a good five feet from his previous position and was a good twenty yards away from the building, but he was still too close for Dean's liking.

"Sam! Get your ass over here right now!" he called out to him. Sam showed no intent to do as he was told and Dean found himself once again very mad at the kid. He pushed off the car and took a few steps in his brother's direction. "Sam! I _know_ you heard me! Get over here, now!"

"Or what?" challenged the youngster, not turning to meet his brother. Dean knew damn well that this rebellious nature arose from the kid's inability to do just nothing. However, that wasn't going to stop him from turning the kid to pulp if he didn't get away from that house -Now!

"Or I'll make damn certain that you can't sit for a week! Get back here!" Dean said on the edge of out right yelling his throat hoarse. At this Sammy did turn around, but only revealed a wide smirk that lit up his eyes in full rebellion.

"You'll have to catch me first!" Sam said and took off in all damned directions right for the house.

Dean was right after him and caught up to him as the boy was pulling the front doors open. He grabbed Sam's arm real tightly and yanked him away from the door.

"Let go!" Sam said, now angry. Dean however, was so not in the mood. He continued to pull the boy towards the car but found it harder as Sam started to pull back towards the house.

"Let's go!" Dean yelled and pulled on Sam hard enough to put the boy in front of him. Sam started to push away from his brother's form but found that his younger self was no match for his brother's stronger form.

They made it four or five feet off the steps when the front door burst open. Both boys stopped their struggle and turned around to face the building slowly.

"Let's go in." Sam said real softly.

"What? Are you insane?" Dean said, yelling real softly too.

"Come on, Dean." pleaded Sam. "Where's your sense of adventure?" Dean couldn't believe his ears. His do good, sweet, innocent, and well behaved little brother was the one asking to consciously disobey an order and willingly walk into a _haunted_ house?

"It left when my sense for survival took over." Dean replied. Sam huffed and started to walk around his brother to the house, solo.

"Fine then, I'll go myself." He said annoyed. Dean grabbed his arm and pulled him back in front of him. Once there, he lifted the boy up and over his shoulder and started walking to the car without one word.

Sam however, wasn't so silent. "Dean!" he started, pounding on his brother's back. "Get off me! Put me down! Dean! What the hell are you doing? Stop it! Hey! Stop!!!" But all his cries fell on his brother's deaf ears and Dean didn't stop until he was at the car. He placed Sam down on the hood of the Impala and only then did he release him.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Got a death wish or something? Dad said to stay here, and I'll be damned if I get in trouble because you want to go sightseeing!"

"I wasn't going to _do_ anything! I just wanted to see!"

"Yeah, well I bet that's what that kid Roger what's his face said before they went after him and _killed_ his sorry ass."

"God Dean! I thought you were all out for having a good time…"

"Not in the expense of you getting killed. If you go in there, and Dad finds you, he's going to kill you. That is, if the damn spirits don't kill you first. And then, just on principle alone, he'll come and kick _my_ ass for letting you in there."

"I'm not going to let him find me." Sam said in an 'is that obvious' voice.

"Well, I'm not going to give you a chance." And as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Sam took it upon himself to try and get off the hood and jet towards the building once more. This time catching Dean fully off guard and Sam was a full three feet before the steps before he grabbed a hold of him once more.

"Stop! Please, just stop! I hafta go in! Dean, please!" but his brother wasn't listening and Sam was on the verge of hysteria. He started shaking frantically trying to get off of Dean's grasp. Dean started worrying that Sam was possessed when Sam started kicking his shins. Dean grabbed a hold of Sam's shirt with one hand and slapped Sam with the other.

Instantly, Sam stopped wringing around and looked up to Dean with a pained look in his eyes. Now, Dean was sure that the kid was in fact not possessed and felt a little bad that he had smacked him, but at least he stopped fighting him.

"Get a grip, Sam. Now, let's go!" but before Dean could actually move them away from the house, he felt something start pulling Sam away from him.

_Well, this really was very unexpected. _Dean thought as he grabbed onto Sam a little tighter.

"Dean! You're hurting me!" Sam yelled as he tried to pry his hands from his brother's grasp. What was he thinking! Didn't he see…Didn't he _feel_ the spirits pulling him to the house?

"Sammy! Come on, we've got to get you out of here!" But once again, the house pulled tighter, and this did seem to register to Sam.

Sam's hand's grasped tightly to Dean's wrists for a brief second as he tried to pull himself to his brother. Dean gritted his sneakers into the dirt but nothing seemed to help. Within seconds, Sam was soaring through the air and into the house.

Dean was right on his heels until he reached the mansion door, that loudly slammed shut before him. Dean reached over and prayed that the door remained unlocked. He thanked his 'lucky' stars as the door handles twisted to let him in.

Sam was right, the inside was a sight. If only he had the chance to tell the kid that. After, of course, he knocked some sense back into him. But as Dean looked around he noted that there was something very unsetting about the _clean_ foyer. Where was Sam?

"What the _hell_ was that?!" came a very frustrated voice from the upstairs. Dean turned around and faced the grand stair case just as his father proceeded to come down them. "What in the hell are you doing in here?" he was yelling. "I told you two to stay outside, goddamn it!"

John was quickly beside his eldest son and was on the verge of demanding a response and issuing consequences when he noticed something very wrong.

"Dean, where's Sammy?" Dean mumbled a response and started to look around again. A strangled pain was starting to erupt in his stomach. John grabbed Dean roughly by the shoulders and shook him, regaining his attention.

"Dean…"

"Something got him, and…and it dragged him in here. I… I don't know where he is."

"What is that supposed to mean, Dean?" John said, softly. He knew exactly what that meant; he was just refusing to admit it.

"I… I lost him." John froze. _Lost him?_ God, no. No, no, no.

Before John could think or say anything, they both turned abruptly towards the hall emerging from the right. A strangled cry had them running to a door, locked.

It took John all but a few seconds to tear that door down and then he had to jump back before he fell down the darkened steps. The ones leading straight to the basement. Another cry and they ran down the steps, John's flashlight lighting the way.

A turn at the steps and they both stopped cold in their tracks as at least four spirits hovered above the now unconscious form of Sam. The blood erupting from him was not missed.

Dean stood trembling uselessly in the corner of the local medical hospital's emergency waiting room. They had been there for at least an hour and Sam was still in surgery. _Oh God!_ Dean thought, _Surgery! Sammy's in surgery. And I put him there…_

John had ran after the doctor and was lead by the doc's nurse to answer questions and do all that other mindless and useless paper work that really only made people that much more nervous. Dean was left in the waiting room, no one having told him where to go or what to do.

Dean found that he was having difficulty breathing. Being in a hospital and surrounded by people who were trained to pick up on a shocked victim's unease, Dean knew that he had to get away from there. But it wasn't like he actually could _go_ somewhere. Dean needed an out and fast. He needed to get away. He needed relief.

"Hey, could you tell me where the restrooms are?" Dean said approaching the nurse station. His voice was trembling and his hands were starting to shake as he stuffed them into his pockets.

"Over there honey," the thirty something year old red head said pointing above her right shoulder. "Second door to the left, that's the little boy's room." And she winked a farewell as she continued to review over someone's chart.

Dean didn't even return the pleasantry as he hastily walked over to the men's room. He pushed the door open and stood by the one open stall door as he panted and waited for the one guy at the urinal to be done.

Once the guy left, no one but him was left in the bathroom. Dean pulled out his pocketknife and eyed it half heartedly. God! He had the same thoughts this morning. How just one blade could bring him so much relief? Yet, here he stood, ignoring the release he so desperately needed.

He couldn't let Sammy down. God! Sammy had cried when he had caught him. He had made his innocent little baby brother _cry_ because of this. Sammy didn't deserve that. He deserved better. He didn't deserve to be in some weird town with some weird doctors cutting him up and fixing him up. Fixing that of which Dean had allowed to happen.

He heard someone coming towards the door amongst all the other steps since this one stopped at the door and he ducked into the stall beside him just in time. He locked the door and heard the man walk over to the urinals and start complaining about working way to long for some jerk and Dean was immediately not interested.

Instead, Dean looked down at his knife and felt the guilt rising. God, his father had yet to even punish him for this but he knew the second that they were alone he would. John always got mad when Dean screwed up. And now, Sammy was hurt.

He eyed the scars of his last relief. More precisely he eyed the third cut, the one for Sammy. The one meant that Sammy was never supposed to feel that kind of pain. A pain that Dean had not been able to prevent. He eyed it with disgust and completely ignored his previous thoughts as he pressed the blade into that cut and allowed the blood to drip into the toilet.

tbc...Sunday


	7. Slice

**WARNINGS: Self-Mutilation, Language; Insults not intended to offend anyone personally. **

**Disclaimer: Winchesters are not mine. Let's all be sad together.**

**Departing** **Thoughts**

_The pocket knife lies besides the body as the blood starts a path from the wrists..._

**Slice**

By: chocolate rules

Saying that he didn't know how he let it get this far was a lie. He knew. There really is no excuse for his actions. Ever since Sammy found him, he should have stopped. And he did, for a little while.

He hated the look that Sammy gave him when he found him. Like he didn't even know who this person was that was causing themselves to bleed out. Like someone had invaded his brother's body and was causing him this silent pain.

But Sammy didn't know pain, and so it really wasn't his fault that he didn't understand what, or _why_, Dean was doing that. Not that Dean understood either. He doesn't remember what made him result to _this_, but he does remember the feeling of relief that he got each and every time.

And this time was no different.

The pocketknife lied within reach of his right hand, right by his hip. There were three cuts on his left arm, one deeper then the others from repeated slicing. But that hadn't been enough. His forearm bared two more cuts and his opened shirt displayed four more cuts.

The more he cut, the better he was feeling.

Normally, he would cut after he had done something wrong, when someone had gotten hurt. This time, he was the only one truly hurt. He was the victim. It wasn't really fair to blame Dad or Sammy, but then again it was their fault.

That's another thing his cuts weren't curing, the guilt.

He was feeling better because he saw the blood. Seeing the blood and watching it clot back up always made him realize that he was still very much alive. It always made him think that if his own body wanted it to stop, then maybe he should. But most of the time, he wasn't really thinking through the process.

A _process_ which he had perfected throughout the years. When the pressure became too much, when the victims kept piling up, when Sammy got hurt, and even when Dad got hurt. When these times occurred, Dean would slip away into the shadows which they were supposed to fear. And why not there, he was certain that if John _ever_ found out he would think his son was possessed, weak. And that kind of thing was evil and evil lived in the shadows, so that's where he'd retire to.

Once, when he was about twenty, Dean actually stopped and thought about what really made him come back to the cutting. He went through the entire process in his mind and narrowed it down. The 'excitement' wasn't it, because even if he _did_ do this it didn't mean he was some sort of freak. Even if he was. The possibility of getting caught was always a thrill, but that was more or less in the moment and it didn't happen each time. And when he had been caught, it was not very pretty.

So it had to be something deeper, god forbid something even emotionally based.

Dean sat on his bed that day, Sammy not even five feet away in the bed beside him sleeping peacefully -which was rare in itself- and went through the list. What was it that he felt when he did this to himself? Well, there was always the initial need for relief. Then, there was the pain, the fear, the excitement-well he had to throw that back in really- and then the ending result of relief. But he got most of those thing form the hunt as well. The secretiveness maybe. But that was kind of killed when Sammy caught him. At twenty, it had been years since he had needed to cut, but it was never really that far off in his mind.

When Sammy left, he almost went back to it. But right before he left, Sammy had begged him not to do anything stupid. He had explained everything to Dean, and luckily he did get the need to get out. He would never want Sammy to need this kind of relief, so if leaving all together would keep his baby brother from committing such mutilation, then he was fully supportive of his leaving. Because it always looked wrong and made Dean extremely sick to ever imagine Sammy doing this to himself. It was just another thing that Dean was willing to do for the both of them.

He had never actually reached a verdict on that matter. Not when he was twenty and monitoring Sammy's even breath like his own life depended on it and not when he was twenty two and he walked Sammy to the bus terminal and his baby brother gave him a breath clenching hug as he held back the tears and watched the bus pull out. Not when he stayed for two hours, leaning on the Impala, for fear of what he might do or say once he saw his father again.

Not now at twenty seven as he leaned against an old maple tree in some anywhere forest in some apple-pie-life town. Not now when he could still replay the argument in his mind so clearly. The funny thing was that it wasn't even that big of an argument. It had been a little one compared to the ones they'd been having for the last week or so, but it was Dean's breaking point.

It was very rare that they argued _during_ a hunt. It was usually before and Dad would more then likely win and Sam would keep his damn mouth shut for the rest of the day, just to spite him or because he hated being wrong and treated like a child. If they argued after the hunt, it would be because something went wrong and either Sam 'improvised' against Dad's orders and went with his own, or Dad's plan had failed some and one of them had gotten hurt. It was during these times that Sam would yell out how none of that would have happened had they followed what he had been saying all along.

Dean would usually take these times and get to a bar, ASAP. He knew that they would never really kill each other, so it was okay to let them steam it out. Only once had real fist flown, and that was the night that Sam told Dad that he couldn't control him anymore and that he was going to Stanford whether he liked it or not. Dad had said something downgrading to Sam and then Sam had thrown a punch. Dean was stunned stupid watching it all, but Dad had reacted and had Sam in a lock within seconds. John Winchester wasn't strong for nothing and Sammy had never really taken full care about his strength so it was a weak struggle, but it had happened all the same.

The problem with bars and beer was that Dean had long ago developed a resistance to the alcohol. So, two beers in and no further from the growing agony in his stomach, head, and heart, Dean would walk over to the pool tables and start up a game. He would spend a good three hours there at a time during a fight. Then Dad or Sammy, mostly Sammy, would come and get him, have a few beers and they'd go back to the room. Dad got his own motel room now, leaving them to themselves, but mainly to keep things to himself. So, it was rarely awkward to have them all three back in a room together until the next morning.

So, beer was never really a substitute for the cutting and never could be. Dean knew that. But with Sammy so close, he tried so damn hard not to go back to it.

And yet here he was.

The pocketknife lay beside his body, because that's all he was now, a body. The blood milking out, causing the distinct iron/copper smell that was blood and he knew that if they were looking for him - which Sam would be within seconds of his dash - the damn thing would give him away.

He was usually so damn careful to not leave a trail. He was always so damn careful to not get caught. But there was no getting out of this one.

Maybe, he thought as the first star appeared in the darkened sky, if they took long enough, he wouldn't have to worry about that.

tbc...Wednesday...And are the alerts back on, or what? And...SUPERNATURAL WILL RETURN IN FOUR DAYS:D

A/N: Okay, I wrote this months ago, but just finished rereading it- well this chapter anyway, and OMG! I'm sooo cruel! I almost cried! I am so sorry! Dean's very emotional huh? I LOVE this though! I hope everyone does too! I want the alerts up though...:D


	8. Lost

**WARNINGS: Self-Mutilation, Language; Insults not intended to offend anyone personally. **

**Disclaimer: Winchesters are not mine. Let's all be sad together.**

A?N: Far as I can tell, the alerts are back up :D So, I really hope that this chapter goes out:D And, It's technically Thursday!!! I'm freaking out! There's three different commercials for tom's epi and I'm totally freaked! Though, I have a pretty strong feeling with Dean killing Gordon, who's with me!??!? (No one threatens Sammy and gets to live, at least not in any story I've written :D)

**Departing** **Thoughts**

_As night falls, the people are rescued but John and Sam can't find Dean..._

**Lost**

By: chocolate rules

John had explained to the victims that he would drive them to the police, get them home. He told them that they could not say a word about the weapons or how they had been rescued. He gave them a relatively neutral story and had them all agree, even little Kelsey

The sky was now noticeably darker. Sam had taken off after his brother over an hour ago and John could hear him slowly trudging back.

Sam had reached the forested woods in the matter of ten minutes. He had looked for half an hour and he couldn't find a damn trace that would lead him to his brother. He hated to admit it, but if Dean didn't want to be found, then he wouldn't be able to find him. But Dad might.

And so, after half an hour of searching for his brother, Sam turned around and walked back to the Impala and John's truck by the haunted mansion. The sky was darker and he didn't have a flashlight, there was no way that Sam was going to find Dean like this.

John turned and watched the slump form of his youngest walk towards him, brother-less. If Sam could possibly crawl into himself, right now he would. Sam was so lost without his brother it was really sad to watch.

"Anything?" he asked cautiously as Sam neared the Impala, John leaning against its radiating form. The victims sat in his truck, the two women sat in the front, with the little girl in her mother's lap. The man sat in the truck bed and stretched out taking most of the space there and effectively hiding the electric hidden weapon cabinet.

"No, I don't think he wants me to find him." Sam says, stopping a good ten feet from John. He looks at him with such a blank look that John has to wonder if something possessed his son.

"Don't worry about it, I'll go and look for him." John tries to reassure him.

"It's getting dark," Sam replies, stating the obvious. "I might be too late, Dad."

"He's fine, Sam." John says as he pushes off the car.

"You've never seen him like this, so I wouldn't say anything if I were you." Sam said, but there was really no vengeance in his voice. It was actually much like his expression: blank and neutral.

Sam looked down and when he looked back up, he had such a lost expression that John stopped his progress to him.

"Could… could you go look for him? I mean, you'd find him right? Dad, you've _never_ seen him like this. You don't know what he's capable of. What he's already done to himself. He takes things way to hard and he's been out there for over an hour." And Sam's just rambling now.

"How about you drive them to the police station and let me go find him." John suggests. Sam looks at him like he's insane and the thought of ever leaving without his brother is unthinkable. "They need to get home too, Sam." John explains and Sam doesn't have it in him to fight. He nods ok, takes the keys from John's hand and walks back over to the truck.

He slips into the driver's seat and within seconds he's peeling out, driving as fast as Dean any day. John lets out a hard sigh, and reaches into the Impala's trunk where he's dropped off his sons' weaponry. He grabs a flashlight and a .45 just to be sure. He starts to close the trunk when something about Sam's worry catches up to him. He reopens the trunk, grabs the first aid kit from inside Sam's duffel bag and hopes against hope that he really won't need it.

Sam's driving so fast that it's a wonder that the man in the truck bed isn't flying off. The women in the truck seem to know better than to talk to this obviously distressed young man. The little girl clings to her mother, whether it's from fear of Sam or from the entire day's events he's not sure and he could really care less.

He knows that he has to get them out of there, knows he must get them to safety, but nothing enters his mind except the thought that Dean's out there. His brother is out there, hurt more likely than not, and he has to worry over some people that in truth were just careless and stupid and were out late one night and got themselves trapped.

Dean was out there because Sam was so stupid that he didn't realize how much the last few weeks were affecting his brother and had taken _this_ moment to fight with his father. Sam should be better at noticing his brother's angst growing. He was after all the overly observant little brother and knew all of Dean's faces and masks. How was it that the most important and the most threatening one kept slipping past him?

tbc...FRIDAY...OMG!! Tom's (well today really) is the new episode! Am I the only one freaking out!??? Ahhhh Please review so that I can survive until Nine tonight :D


	9. Scars

******WARNINGS: Self-Mutilation, Language; Insults not intended to offend anyone personally. **

**Disclaimer: Winchesters are not mine. Let's all be sad together.**

I think that this may be one of the harder chapters to read. I know it was for me when I wrote it. Just think for a moment, they're just kids and he really can't handle all the responsibilities and promises.

**Departing** **Thoughts**

_(FB) The werewolf tore him apart pretty bad, at least Dad will think he did it..._

**Scars**

By: chocolate rules

They lied on the wet grass and watched as John made a slow and steady progress towards the infected woods. They hid behind the bushes and were hidden away with their dark clothes unless you looked directly at them, and even then you might not notice unless you knew they were there. Camouflage, Winchester survival 101.

The rain was falling pretty hard but the sky was almost barren of clouds. The full moon could easily be seen.

John neared the clearing that was locally infamous for its creepy sounds at night and strange disappearances. During the day and afternoon, however, that same clearing was roamed by many lovebirds and known as the local make out spot.

Sam had done most of the research on this one. This would be his first real hunt and john wanted Sam to know everything before they got there. Sammy had taken to it like bees to honey. He had spent three days in the library, finding nothing really other than the local lore. Dean recons that Sam spent more time looking up other, non-hunting related things, but he can't blame the kid. Sam has heard all about hunting his whole life and it's very unlikely that anything can really surprise him now.

But it is his first hunt.

Dean quizzed Sam almost as much as John does before they left that night. Sam just rolled his eyes and replied with a sigh. Dean was impressed though and ruffled his hair each time he gets something right, which is each time. Sam pushed him away, but it's always nice to get approval.

Dean shifts his rifle and stretches out some. It's barely noticeable but Sam's practically lying on him and can feel the movement. He himself has been shifting constantly.

They've been in the same position for more or less two hours. It almost 1am and they have school in the morning, which they can't miss since in the two months that they've been there, they've already missed eight days. The school board is growing concerned and Dean's growing reckless.

Just last week, Dean decided against going to his English class after gym and took the outdoor exit from the locker room. He walked over to his car and drove away returning four hours later in time to pick Sam up. At sixteen, Dean was in no way allowed to sign himself out, but that rarely stopped him. As usual, Dean's one of the youngest in his grade. He entered Kindergarten while he was still four and turned five the January after Mary died.

John received a call from the school the next day on his cell phone. The next day happened to be a Saturday and the boys were in their room sleeping since John had just come from a hunt and wouldn't be drilling them. He got the call and it turns out that it wasn't even the first time that Dean had done that in this school district. He had been cutting or been absent five days more than Sam.

It was late March, and John had given Dean the Impala only a few months ago. Dean had gotten into all kinds of trouble since and John was getting himself hoarse with threatening to take the thing away.

Unfortunately, even through Dean's fear filled eyes, he'd only shrug and say "Fine, if you must." Now, John had been a teenager himself many ages ago, but he had raised his sons not to question him and to follow orders. It was bad enough that Sammy was starting to question every damn hunt he went on and every moving choice, but having Dean crossing _normal_ boundaries was almost more irritating.

John wasn't one to threaten lightly and he rose from his bed, after having spoken with the assistant principal in charge of discipline and attendance- a mouthful if you ask me- for fifteen minutes. He walked into their room and found them both peacefully sleeping.

Now, John wasn't some kind of evil father on a rampage, he respected that his sons needed rest and was always willing to give them an extra day in a motel room to recuperate. He wasn't the kind of dad however that allowed things to get away from him if he could help it. He knew very well that if he waited until Dean awoke, one- his son would be more alert when forming a lie, two- John would more likely than not be involved into something else and completely forget until the issue would just be pointless, and three- he was mad now and there was no real guarantee he'd be mad later and would probably let Dean get away with it with yet another warning.

Dean felt a hard tap on his leg and barely registered his father saying something. He rolled over some off his stomach and opened an eye. Through it, he could barely make out his father's form through the sleepy haze, but there was no doubt about it that Dad was defiantly made at something.

"Get up," John said softly but firmly. Sammy was still very much asleep and John didn't need to disturb him. Dean noted the tone, but opted to play mildly stupid on this one. If he acted like he had no idea whatsoever what his father was talking about, which he currently didn't, and then maybe he could think of a way out of it.

"Was'rong?" Dean asked as he propped himself up on an elbow.

"Get up, now" John said and he didn't move from where he was as he watched Dean lie there.

"Okay," Dean grumbled and pushed himself into sitting position. "M'up."

"Move it," John said as he started to walk towards the door. Dean stood up, rubbed his eyes awake and followed his father into the hall closing the door behind him.

As soon as they were both in the hall, John turned around and faced Dean. Now Dean could clearly see the fuming smoke radiating off his father and wondered how quickly he could make a run for it. However, it was March and it was still chilly out, especially at around seven in the morning. OH yeah, especially still in his boxers.

"Where the hell where you yesterday?" John said. he wasn't the kind of father that fooled around and tried to get his kids to confess to whatever wrong they'd done. No, he didn't have the time for that; you answered the here and now when he asked.

"School," Dean answers automatically, because he _had_ been in school and his father wasn't really asking much yet. He knew his father liked to get straight to business, but that didn't mean he was about to give himself out that quickly. What if he confessed to more than his father knew about? No, he couldn't have that.

"Dean, does this look like the time to fuck around?" John gritted out through his teeth. He was looking Dean dead in the eye and Dean was trying his best to keep the contact. That was a surefire way to prove you were lying.

"No, sir." He replied. John did not look satisfied.

"Dean, your school just called. Now, I know you weren't there, so where the hell where you?"

"But Dad, I _did_ go." Dean said calmly, like he wasn't lying at all.

"Not the whole day." And not even Dean could really deny that. "Where were you?" John asked again, and John Winchester did _not _like repeating himself. Dean broke the eye contact then without even realizing it until it was too late. He noticed it though when John took a step towards him and lifted his chin up to lock eyes again.

"I can't stand it there, Dad." Dean said with much truthfulness. He was avoiding the actual question, but it was the truth at least, he really couldn't stand it in that school or in any school really.

"That's not what I asked, Dean." John said, not missing a beat.

"I didn't go anywhere, I just drove around. Got a pizza, went to the park, pissed off a few people there, and left to get Sammy. That's all, honest."

"For four hours?"

"Yeah," Dean replied a little hesitant. He had of course done all of those things, but it wasn't all that he had done.

"Dean…" John started, once again trying to contain his anger.

"Dad, I didn't do anything wrong. Okay, so maybe I left a little early, but I was growing restless and if I _had_ stayed there any longer, then I _would_ have done something."

"That's not a reason, Dean."

"Yes, sir. I know that."

"Then why would you still go and leave? "

"I can't stand it there Dad." Dean repeated.

"That's _not_ an answer." John said defiantly raising his voice on that one. He took a deep breath, remembering that he still had a son that deserved to sleep in, and continued talking.

"I have to know where you and your brother are at all times. That means you go where you're told and you stay there until you're told to do otherwise. That does _not_ mean that you get to wander off any time you please."

"It's not like that…"

"Doesn't matter, Dean. If I send you to school, I expect you to be there. I don't need this added worry on your behalf now. If you want to act like some damn child, then you can be treated like a child. I trust you to do the right thing, for you and for your brother; don't prove me wrong this far in the game, kid."

"This had nothing to do with Sammy!" protested Dean.

"Hm, yeah well as far as I remember, Sam's school knows to call the high first if anything were ever to happen to your brother. If you're not there, then you can't be there for Sammy. And if you're running around and then windup getting hurt, god help you if the police get involved and I have to get your ass out of holding. I sure as hell am not taking Sam to that. Then he'd be defenseless. And there's so many numerous scenarios Ace that I could go on for an hour. Point being, _driving around_ is not where you should have been yesterday, is it?"

"No sir," Dean said. Be this time, John had released his chin and Dean's head hung low and he stared into the odd green carpeting.

"So, where did you go?" John asked again. "What could possibly not have waited till later that night?"

Dean looked to his father's eyes again, but said nothing. There was no way in hell that he was going to tell. His dad was mad, really mad, and there was no way that telling him this could end well for him.

It was a growing pain now. It seemed to progress and seep out at the oddest of times. The need, the despair. It would all get to him all of a sudden. Most of the time, he could quiet it out. He was actually getting really good at that. But then there were all those other times. Those times when his thoughts were crowded with a haze and the pain was so overwhelming that he could barely see right. That he could barely think.

It was those times that scared him the most.

If he was at home or on the road, he could easily slip into a pit stop or the bathroom. He was known to drink too much coffee lately, since only recently had John actually allowed him to do it. And if you've ever had a lot of coffee, you know that that makes you have to go badly.

So Dean would find a way to get to the bathroom and find comfort from the simplest of sharp objects. Luckily, their father always required that they carry around a pocketknife and so it wasn't anything to worry about if Dean would bring it with him to the bathroom, because who knows who _or what_ you can find in those public bathrooms anyway.

Even under Sammy's observing eye, Dean could pass into the bathroom and merely one 'scratch' later he could come back out and be himself again. Sam was still too young to really think that Dean didn't need the night or the privacy of their own bathroom to do such things, and it was better for Dean that way.

He had promised the kid that he wouldn't hurt himself anymore, but after Sammy went to the hospital, he felt so bad. John had really given them both hell, because Dean had been so mad that he had told everything exactly how it happened and didn't leave out any of Sam's faults at all. Some times, the kid deserved punishment and even if Dean did feel like crap about failing the kid, it was Sam who had gotten himself near the damn house in the first place.

So john had been mad and had given them hell for a while, but they were both okay in the end. At least they looked it on the outside.

On the inside, Dean was quickly drowning.

There are times in life that such things catch up to you. They make you feel like you could have done more and it doesn't help to think that the outcome could have been better. Maybe if you thought something further through, you wouldn't jump into things so fast. It's normal to have these down times. But, then you're supposed to buck up and remember that you can do better the next time around. A little failure can still be resolved.

But a failure for a Winchester could always mean the difference between life and death.

It was almost easy when these overwhelming times occurred where he could handle it, but when it had bad timing, say school or ghost hunt, then Dean could say he really had a problem.

When it happened in school, he just left. He left whatever it was that had bothered him and runs to some kind of neutral ground. Like his car or the wide open road. Or, hell, both.

It hadn't yet happened in a hunt.

"_Dean_," John said not a little irritated now.

"I'm sorry, Dad." Dean replied not chancing looking up from his own feet.

John looked at his eldest son now with worried eyes. Sure, he'd been a teenager before, but he had never been like his son. Dean was so much more different and he knew that. John was always kind of hard and didn't really take things too seriously unless they were a big deal. At Dean's age, his car and his girlfriend were a big deal. School, work, and such things came second.

Now, his family was a big deal and he wasn't that vague that he couldn't tell if something was going on.

"Sorry isn't good enough," John said angrily. However, if Dean had looked up, he would have seen the worry clear in his father's eyes.

"I can't say much more. But I swear I wasn't doing anything bad. It's…its kind of personal though." Dean supplied to his knees.

John watched his sixteen year old shift nervously in front of him. It wasn't the best of thoughts, but seeing as every other scenario was scaring him, John really hoped that Dean was implying sex.

Now, don't get the man wrong. Just because he spent the better part of his days hunting the supernatural and training his boys to do the same didn't mean that John was in any way oblivious to the boys' lives. And God he knew Dean was very keen in the ladies department, but there was no way that he would approve of his son fathering some poor small town girl's baby. Obviously, he would kill Dean if it ever came to that. He knew that Dean was way too young, and let's face it immature, to even be having sex but every other thought about what Dean could be doing scared the demon shit out of John and he would rather think it was something simple like that.

Either way, the car could not be part of his little rebellious fiasco.

"Well then, Dean, I don't know what to do with you. However, you disobeyed me, repeatedly, and now you've been caught." John tipped Dean's chin upwards again, sending threatening waves through the boy. "Go get your keys; I don't want you driving for the better part of the next month which you will spend grounded."

"Look, Dad…" Dean started, but John hadn't let go of his chin and gave him a slight pinch and Dean shut up.

"The only way you'll find yourself behind the wheel of a car, any car, is if your brother's life depends on it. Understood?"

"What if I'm bleeding uncontrollably and the only way to save myself is to drive myself to the hospital?" Dean asked, rebellion darting in and out of his eyes. Once again, it's the normal matters that Dean challenges.

"I don't see any reason that you'd be alone or anywhere near any kind of danger." John supplied him coldly. "Understood?" he asked again, slight venom in his voice.

"Yes sir." Dean supplied automatically.

In the bedroom, the unmistakable sounds of Sammy shifting awake could be heard and John released Dean's face. With a "Get dressed" He went to his own room and waited to start what was sure to be a long day.

"Is that it?" Sammy asked.

"No."

"But, it looks like…"

"For the hundredth time Sammy, _no_." Dean said through gritted teeth. He hated going a round of twenty questions with the kid. Sure, he was growing anxious too but _come on_. A cat's meow will never, ever be the same as a werewolf's.

They passed a few more minutes in the silence of the night and then there was a noise from a tree to their right.

"No," Dean answered before Sammy could ask again. Sammy 'humph' and shifted again. He was moving, nonstop and rhythmically, every three or so minutes. For the past two and a half hours. And not only would that be irritating to a normal person, but one so energy driven and angst filled as Dean was right then was going to get the kid hurt.

Again he shifted and Dean just couldn't help it.

"Ow!" Sam whisper-yelled. He punched his brother's arm best he could from above the rifles. He shifted again, but this time only made Dean chuckle some.

"Dad said you couldn't hit me," Sam said.

"Dad's not here," Dean replied. Sam stuck his tongue out but Dean let him because at least the kid would stay still now.

And he did, for the next twenty four minutes.

"That's it," Sam barely registers his brother say as a lone tall creature crept out from the trees that their father had gone after hours before. The boys were perched a little above ground in a kind of mountain slope that rose around thirty feet from the ground. They could easily see anything trying to enter or leave the clearing, except that the amount of trees stopped them from seeing the clearing itself.

Dean was on his feet and running back and down the slope within seconds before Sam moved into action. To get to the bottom, trees covered most of the path. It was actually kind of nice, the sun gleaming through the leaves and branches, at night the stars barley seen from between the leaves but there all the same. Sam really liked the path and had already spent quite some time there while Dean was supposed to be researching the area and looking for any kind of lair. Sam had an entire third of one of his notebooks covered in drawings of those sights.

But, as he ran and tried to catch up to his big brother, Sam could not glance up to them. He could not marvel out how Orion seemed to be shooting an arrow straight to the full moon.

Dean was at least ten feet down when Sammy sprung into action. He made a small mental note to get the kid's reflexes working faster as he dodged a tree. Sure, there was a path, and Sammy better be taking it, but Dean knew cutting through the trees would get him to the beast faster.

Sam could hear his brother running through the trees. He thought about going after him the same way but knew hat Dean and Dad would both be very mad if he did that, so he quickened his progress down the path.

Dean could hear the growl of the werewolf as it smelt his approach. God, Dad would be mad for him for this, but if everything went right, he'd never really know why he was mad.

And with that thought and quick reassurance, Dean shouldered his rifle and continued to run to the beast.

Sammy didn't see anything, and he told his father just so. He didn't see the thing attack his brother; he didn't see how Dean attacked it. He did however hear his brother's pained scream and dashed faster down the path. As he got there, their father emerged from somewhere further down the woods then he had entered. He raised his own rifle and took aim at the beast hovering dangerously close to his son.

Three shots, that's all it took.

John was a dangerous fifty yards away from the boys and could easily hit Dean if he fired. Dean was held, unconsciously, in the damn things arms.

The sight of it brought Sam to a halt. The faint smell made his eyes grow wide. The knowledge of where it was coming from raised his weapon and three shots were fired.

One, Sam provided to the back of its head. This effectively got its attention and the beast turned away from John and to Sam. Velvet red blood was splattered all over Dean's hair and the front of his jacket.

Two, Sam provided dangerously close to Dean at its hip. This time, the damn things shrieked and dropped Dean to the ground, providing an open area to his fatal chest.

And three brought it to its knees in a manner of twelve seconds after Dean's cry out.

John reached them both, emptied his rifle in the damn thing's heart and shouldered his rifle. He then reached down and grabbed his son, lifting him almost effortlessly into his arms. Nodding for Sam to pick up the discarded weapon, John took off towards his truck.

He could hear Sammy running to keep up behind him and right now that was enough. He shifted Dean's weight as he pulled the driver's door open and began placing Dean in the seat. Sam tossed the weapons bag into the truck bed and jumped into the truck, helping pull Dean into it.

They drove back to the hotel room to asses the damages and put the weapons away. Sam held Dean close to his chest and tried really hard not to cry. Later, John would praise him on his marksmanship and quick reflex but now all that mattered was ensuring that Dean got to see another day.

"Ow, quit it!" Dean said slapping his little brother's hands away from his chest.

"I'm trying to clean the damn thing out!" Sam replied. Dean had woken up and had made it pretty clear that he had not been bitten. He said that he had heard the werewolf in front of him but had been suddenly attacked from the side, causing him to drop the rifle.

"Dean," John warned as Sam prepared another swab of peroxide and Dean looked like he was about to feed it to the kid.

"I'm fine!" Dean said. "It's just a few scratches, Dad!"

"Sit still and shut up," Sam gritted as he passed the swab over yet another cut.

"Fuck!" Dean yelled as the strong ointment made its way into his blood stream and cleared away any bacteria.

"Language Dean," John said as he too cleaned up his sons cuts.

"Injured Dad," Dean supplied back.

"Child in the room," said Sam and looked directly at his brother. Dean gave him a glare but kept his mouth shut. He was the one always saying the same thing to their father.

Dean had multiple cuts on his chest, arms and back. Sammy said it looked like the werewolf was playing catch with Dean and a porcupine or something. Once Dean's back and chest were done, John sent Sammy to go take a bath and get ready for bed. He mumbled something about being treated like a child after he had killed himself a werewolf. This of course fell to two pairs of deaf ears as Sam made his slow progress into the bathroom.

John cleaned Dean's arms and wrapped them too in bandage. Only a few needed stitches. John had given Dean some painkillers and Sam had hopped behind Dean and held onto him as John stitched up his chest and sat beside him as he lied on his belly while John stitched the one cut that needed it on his back.

John turned the motel light off sometime around four am. The boys had three hours before they had to get going to reach school in time, half an hour away. Sammy clung as tightly as the stitches allowed. Dean had whined and said that clingy Sammy was getting on his nerves. But no one really took heart into the comment.

As John's soft snoring filled the night air and Sammy's soft breath brushed against his neck, Dean shivered and clung onto Sammy now. Never before had the need arose during a hunt. Never before had he willingly thrown himself at a monster.

Never before had he not thought about how he was going to get out of such a tight spot.

tbc... As soon as I start get some reviews:D Like five, okay :D... you can speed me along w/ a well wish on my college appications, huh huh, PLZ! But thatnks to all of those who have reviewed, you guys rock!


	10. Found

******WARNINGS: Self-Mutilation, Language; Insults not tintended to offend anyone personally. **

**Disclaimer: Winchesters are not mine. Let's all be sad together.**

**Departing** **Thoughts**

_Before the brink of day, Sam approached the slump form, tears in his eyes..._

**Found**

By: chocolate rules

Sam reached the police station and barely waited for all its passengers to climb out before he peeled out. He barely heard one of the woman's 'thank you' as he turned the corner and got back towards his brother.

John got into his son's Chevy Impala and ripped towards the woods they had passed coming there. It didn't take much time to reach considering it was only half a mile back, and he pulled off the road and parked the car. He grabbed the gun, kit, and flashlight and headed into the forest to find his wayward son.

Sam took the long and lonely road and spotted the Impala off the side of the road. As he edged over, he could most clearly see the outline of his father entering the clearing. He parked his Dad's truck in front of the Chevy, grabbed a flashlight from the center compartment and rushed off to catch up to his father.

John heard the truck as he closed the door to his old vehicle. He was slightly worried that Sam had returned so fast, but he didn't have the time to think about that now. He stepped into the now dark woods knowing that Sam would soon be with him.

Sam reached his father, but no words were exchanged. Each flashlight flickered in its own direction. The Winchesters were the best hunters ever; they could pick out an evil entity four states away and follow it to kingdom come and beyond.

And yet, they couldn't seem to find their own.

The sky was really dark and they spent two endless hours searching further and further into those woods. In Sam's mind he was ticking away the minutes that his brother had been missing. The counting wasn't helping anything except placing him closer into hysteria. But he wouldn't allow himself to get there; he needed to find his brother, now. He needed to see Dean fine and dandy. And alive.

In John's mind, he was trying to finesse his hunter skills and tune into his son.

Some thirty more minutes passed and Sam was defiantly having problems breathing. He was now behind his father, having foregone looking on his own all together because he figured if he fainted then his father would have to look for both his sons.

And then John stopped.

"Smell that?" he asked, green eyes wide in the darkened night. Sam looked about, he didn't smell anything. However, years of hunting with his father and brother taught him that their skills were way more advanced then his own. If John said that something smelled fishy, then you'd find some odd smell being nearby.

John glanced off over Sam's left shoulder. Sam turned around and looked in that direction as well. A gust of wind picked up, coming south from the same direction and then Sam's eyes went wild.

The smell of blood was very distinct against the leaves and animals.

Sam took off in a wild run towards the smell. The further he ran, the more he could smell it. God, it smelled like so much blood. Sam was so grateful for his long legs at that moment as he tore forward towards his brother.

John's steps behind Sam and moments later he can barely keep his son in his view. Suddenly Sam stops. He looks around slightly and takes slow steps forward. John is a good ten feet behind Sam when he drops to his knees giving John a clear view in front of him.

Sam's running and he can barely see through his tears and he can't even remember when he started crying. All of that is unimportant now. Dean is his main focus.

And suddenly there he was.

The stars hung unknowingly in the sky. The breeze picked up again and the leaves danced around echoing their release. Somewhere in the trees around them an owl hooted into the night. Somewhere behind him the ground crushed beneath his father's unabashed running. Somewhere in front of him was his brother.

This could not be him.

Sam approaches the slump form, tears in his eyes, completely frozen in the moment. He drops beside his brother and lets out a soft sob.

John is next to him within an instant. He tosses the kit between them and orders Sam into motion. Sam's on autopilot now as he pulls the slump form from the pooling blood bath and onto his chest. He can hear a faint breath slip through the pale lips and vanish into the cold night air. John tugs off his eldest's jacket and eased off the long sleeved shirt that Sam had convinced the elder to wear instead of his flimsy tee-shirt. Once the garment left Dean's cooling body, the images of his son's own brutality froze John right on the spot. And he had been so convinced that there was nothing left in this world that could possibly surprise him.

Sam wraps a protective arm around his brother's waist, effectively drawing him in closer. His other arm goes to his brother's head. Sam pushes Dean's head back until it is tucked beneath his chin and Sam rests his own face in his brother's hair. He closes his eyes and begins a prayer that he remembered Pastor Jim say.

Sam had always liked Pastor Jim's prayers. He found that they had a calming rhythm to them, like a lullaby. Dean had told him not to bother with any of that nonsense and not wanting to upset his brother, Sam had never asked Pastor Jim to teach him any. But he had heard enough from the man when he would sneak into the church late at night as the man prayed.

Sam prayed now too. He didn't know what the prayer was for or what it meant, but he says it anyway. He half hoped that Dean would wake up just to tell him to stop with that nonsense and to get his face out of his precious hair.

John busied himself with cleaning the multiple cuts on his son's arms and chest. The blood had seeped clear through the sweatshirt and had stained the jacket. John's hands were now slightly stained with his son's blood but for the most part, the bleeding had ceased. Most of the chest inflictions would need stitches and the supplies were not in the kit.

He was muttering his own strand of prayers and curses as he patched up his child. The longer he works the more he realized the amount of time that Dean must have been bleeding. Around them now were a couple of blood soaked gauzes and alcohol swabs. John's hands work expertly and manage to meagerly bandage Dean up enough to move.

"Sammy," John calls out to him. He could see Sam muttering something into his brother's hair. Normally and in any other circumstance, John would allow the two a moment, but now wasn't the time.

Sam was slightly shaken away from his thoughts. He looked through his blurred vision to see his father cleaning away. He briefly registers his father telling him that it was time to go to the hospital. John and Sam helped an unconscious Dean to his feet.

"Dad, we can't walk him out of here." Sam notes with the deadweight that was becoming of his brother. John nodded.

"You go ahead and get the truck started. I want you to follow in the Chevy." John said. He maneuvered Dean until he had a good hold on him. He then lowered himself and hoisted Dean up onto his arms. Sam waited until he was sure that John had a good hold on Dean and then took off for the cars.

A good five minutes later, incredible for the amount of time that it had taken them to find Dean, found the Winchesters in their respective cars peeling away to the hospital.

John's cell phone rang and he seriously couldn't think of a worse time for his son to check in.

"What is it Sam?" John said flipping the device open and into his shoulder. He has one hand on the steering wheel as the other continuously checks Dean's pulse and glides reassuring through his features.

"There isn't a hospital in this town," came Sam's horrified response.

"What?"

"I remember the research for this place. Dean had found it odd that the nearest hospital was a good hour drive from here. Almost mystically stating that no one around here really got sick. It made him worry about that Scarecrow thing you sent us to a little while back," and there he was nervously rambling again.

"Sam, can you focus here." John said gruffly as his right hand slips up to Dean's brow.

"Yes sir" Sam said with a breath quivering sigh.

"I get it, no hospital here. So where's the nearest one?"

tbc...OK, so again I read this, and yeah, I really have to start getting my tenses fixed. I did go over some of them, but then I didn't feel like doing all that work :D But, w/e the story still means the same thing!...So, please review and thanks to all of those who have :D!!!

(FYI, done w/ college applications:D!!! Unfortunately, I guess, I start on this GOAL Program thing tomorrow -every TUE and THURS at a local college for college credit and well, I'll be there for an hour, but the ride up there is like an hour, and then there's homework...so, thought I have up to chapter 18 written, I don't know the next time that I can update...so you guys have to REVIEW :D )


	11. Beep

******WARNINGS: Self-Mutilation, Language; Insults not tintended to offend anyone personally. **

**Disclaimer: Winchesters are not mine. Let's all be sad together.**

**Departing** **Thoughts**

_"He's going to be fine," they tell them. "But, he's lost a lot of blood."..._

**Beep**

By: chocolate rules

Okay, it became official, he hated white. Why couldn't they ever color these rooms to be blue, or green or red- okay maybe not red that might scare a lot of people? Not really the place for red.

Sam sat in the emergency waiting room of the Terrence Fishburne Memorial Hospital.

They had arrived some three hours ago and Dean had been rushed into surgery. John had remained for the first hour before a call had come in and now he was outside actually abiding to the no cell phone policy and talking to whoever the hell decided to call him on the worst night ever.

Needless to say, Sam was full of angst.

So many thoughts were passing through the young man's mind that he really hoped someone would come and tell him something because he was likely to need a respirator if they didn't.

For at least the tenth time, Sam stood up and began to pace. Not that it was helping anyone, but it was really irritating to the Winchester that he couldn't do anything to help his brother. That he couldn't even see him. He knew that operating rooms had windows from which other doctors viewed in and he had asked to stand watch there.

The two nurses that had approached them with the news of Dean's entering surgery gave him disapproving looks. But it was John who had told him to stop that nonsense and sit down.

It was also John who had the last four times told him to quite pacing and sit still. His father hated restlessness. The other times, nurses had come by and had told him that his steady pacing was really getting on their last nerves - kinder of course.

Point being, Sam was very impatient.

"I thought I told you to sit still," came a tired voice from behind him. Sam quickly turned around. He had not heard his father come back but sure enough there he was sitting on one of the many hard plastic chairs.

"I can't help it," Sam said. John gave him a look that told him to learn how to help it and fast. They were in the hospital. The number two enemy of the Winchester clan. John was already on the fritz and Sam knew that he'd have no problem taking Sam out if it meant trying his patience.

Sam slowly walked over to the chair beside his father and sat down. Not even two minutes in, his leg starts bobbing up and down. A firm hand dropped on his knee and he stilled.

"Dad, I'm going to lose it," Sam confessed as he let his head fall back and let out a deep sigh. He had stopped crying as he watched his father heave Dean into his arms and into the emergency entrance.

"Yeah," John said. He really didn't know what he was supposed to tell Sam. He gave him a reassuring squeeze to his knee and retrieved his hand. John was desperately trying to get the images of Dean's slump form out of his mind. He was successful only to the point of getting Dean's multiple cuts in a slideshow format playing in his main brain theatre.

"He's been in there forever," Sam complained. His foot started tapping now, but it didn't bother John as much as it had before.

"Too long,"

"Really?" Sam asked looking frightful at John.

"I don't know about these things much, Sammy, but three hours on a few chest wounds seems like too much to me."

"Maybe they're checking for internal bleeding." Sam supplied. If that was meant to calm either of them, well it proved just the opposite.

Sam's hitched breathing caught John's attention a few moments later. He shifted in his chair to turn and better look at his son. He then placed a strong hand on each of Sam's shoulders and gave him one hard quick shake.

"Sammy, you can't lose it now." John said when Sam's eyes locked with his another shake later.

"Dad, he's…"

"I know," John interrupted. "He's hurting. He's in danger. He's in the hospital." John continued, each words causing his throat to tighten.

"But as long as no one tells us anything has gone wrong, then we have to keep thinking that everything's okay."

"I don't think that I can, Dad. You saw how they looked at him when we brought him in." Sam said quietly. The nurses had all taken one look at Dean's pale white body and had given the two a look of condolence. Like it was already too late.

"You heard him breathing, you know he was alive. He _is_ alive," said John, but the more he tried to reassure Sam, the less he was reassured himself. Dean was dangerously pale. The entire hour long drive over there John had been checking his pulse and breathing patterns. They were growing weak, but he couldn't tell that to Sam.

"I know, but he..." stammered Sam. He took a deep breath and leaned forward placing his head in his hands. "He was out there too long. How did he even get that far in there?"

"He must have been running pretty hard. He was probably still running when you went after him.

"God, why'd he have to do this again? I thought he was over this. I should have known better. I should've noticed the change." Sam guiltily stated. John stared at him for a moment, not knowing really what his son was talking about. Once again, he reached over and placed a strong hand on the back of Sam's neck.

"He's going to be fine." But Sam shook his head at this.

"No, Dad. Don't you see? Even after he gets out of here. It's not enough."

"What are you talking about Sammy?"

"We brought him to this again. I can't let him do this to himself." And John was getting nothing from the boy.

"Sam, what are you saying?"

"It's our fault he's in here. It's our fault, Dad. We keep hurting him and he can't take it."

"Your brother's strong…"

"No, Dad. I mean, I know he's strong, he's the strongest person I know, but his strength has nothing to do with this."

"With what, Sam?"

"With his cutting. He was never weak, Dad, he just needed an out."

And suddenly John understood. This had been going on for a long time. This was something that Dean was fighting against and their argument had brought it out.

"How long, Sam?"

"Too long," Sam said. John was going to press him for answers but the look that Sam turned and gave him at that moment clamped his mouth shut. Too long.

A doctor came through the surgery doors and removed his scrubs. He talked something over with his intern and she nodded her head towards them. He grabbed the file she handed him and walked over to them.

"Mr. Wilder?" he asked coming towards them. John and Sam both recognized the name as the fake one that John had handed over. They turned toward the doctor and both stood on their feet.

"You're here for Dean Wilder, Yes?"

"Yes, I'm his father." John replied as he quickly took the doctor's offered hand.

"Doctor Jake Grey, I was administering your son's surgery."

"How is he?" Sam asked from behind his father. The doctor eyed him wearily not remembering the nurses mentioning another man coming in with his new patient.

However, since the other man made no remark the doctor quickly continued.

"Dean's doing just fine now. We had a miner complication during the surgery when he stopped breathing, but after a few seconds we had him breathing again. It was less than thirty seconds, so there's no need to worry towards any kind of effect from this."

_Oh God, _thought Sam wide eyed. _Dean stopped breathing. Dean was closer to the brink of death once more. _

"So, he's okay now?" asked John not noticing his youngest son's increasing panic from behind him but knowing that the words were causing a distress to his own breathing pattern, so he could only imagine what was on Sammy's face.

"Yes, Mr. Wilder. You're son's fine now."

"Can we see him?" piped up Sam.

"Not yet, he's still out from the medication, you can see him once he's awake. But only then it's immediate family only."

"That'll be no problem Dr. Grey. This is Dean's brother and we were only passing through here…"

"How does he look?" Sam asked interrupting his father. He really wasn't in the mood to sit through another scam operation and John could wait until later to press on the matter.

"He's fine, son. Just resting," Grey repeated now with a slightly more calming demeanor towards the young man in front of him.

"No, I mean, how does he look. What happened? What took so long?"

"Well, he's going to be alright, that I can assure you both. But, he did lose a lot of blood. He will be weak when he awakes and then he will be subject to observation.

"Mr. Wilder, I'm sure you noticed when, as you said, you tried to mend his wounds, that they were self inflicted. Self mutilation isn't taken lightly, Mr. Wilder, and he will also be subject to psychological evaluation pending his release. And mandatory therapy session afterwards as well. I know you said that you're not from around here, so I would suggest you make him carry this out back home.

"That's all I can say for now, just know your son is doing well. Once he awakes, a nurse will call you to see him. Until then, I ask that you get some rest, the medication should still be in affect for the next four hours."

tbc...I've gotten sick again, so I don't know when, but I'll try to make it quick:D...The hospital doesn't really exist, that I know off...I think that this chapter is a great John and Sam one, could just be me, but I think that they really need more of those in life ...plz R&R


	12. Stop

******A/N: For some reason, for the past two weeks, ff.n hasn't really let me do much on my account or documents. :( Today it works:D I hope to get back to writing things soon, once I figure out how to balance high school and college courses :D **

AN2: COLTS WON SUPERBOWL :D, I've just been saying that everywhere all week now, sry:D

******WARNINGS: Self-Mutilation, Language; Insults not tintended to offend anyone personally. **

**Disclaimer: Winchesters are not mine. Let's all be sad together.**

**Departing** **Thoughts**

_(FB) He could never fool Sammy and the baby's tears force him to stop..._

**Stop**

By: chocolate rules

Dean's watching the shadow's moving around the room. It's now past three and he hasn't slept all night. They got in around midnight and he and Sammy were sent off to bed immediately. In three hours, his father's going to be coming in and telling them that its time to get up. Now however, he was stuck watching the shadows and fighting against sleep.

They were staying with Pastor Jim for a few months now and Dean was getting really tired of doing all the chores involved in the house, church, and grounds. There was also a cemetery a few yards off behind the church that the boys weren't allowed near.

Pastor Jim was making them clean the entire basement of the house today when they got back from school and were done training with their dad. They had gone a bit too far when they had slightly sabotaged the sermon the previous day by placing a few disturbing picture cutouts in the bibles throughout the pews. An elderly woman, Mrs. McGivney, had been the first to find them and had nearly blown her lungs out from screaming. The next one was found by a boy not older than ten and his mother nearly flipped.

The brothers were hiding behind the alter wall, by the door that lead to the pastor's changing room. John was somewhere in the backroom looking up some Latin verses that Pastor Jim had back there. As soon as the shrieking began, John was out of the room and running to the church. He spotted his sons rolling on the ground, laughing and he stopped dead in his tracks.

After grabbing them both and yelling at them for a while, John sent them into the congressional to collect the pictures in front of everyone.

All in all, the last four months hadn't been too bad. They got to do much of whatever they wanted. John would take off for two or three days and do a hunt and then return to them. On the weekends, all three of them would go hunting. If John was hurt or there wasn't any hunt then they would practice and John would let them go out on the weekends.

In truth, there was no reason to be feeling like crap as he was right now.

Sammy had just turned thirteen last week and Dean was making sure that the kid started becoming more of the kind of man that Dean thought he should be. Sam had cringed and laughed through most of the incident involving the pictures they got from the dirty magazine. Then he had absentmindedly mentioned about how funny it would be to show them off to the congressional. Dean thought he had done damn well if the kid came up with that thought all on his own.

Dean shifted once more and watched Sammy sleeping on the bed that rested next to the wall. Sam was sleeping peacefully. They had after all had a very amusing day. Dean himself was exhausted and wished to be sleeping right then, but he just couldn't seem to.

At seventeen, Dean was very aware that his cutting had gotten out of hand. A month back, Pastor Jim had walked in on him pulling off a blade from his razor. He had questioned Dean, but having gone through enough scenarios in his mind of what he would tell his father if he ever saw him in this position a lie easily slipped out that he was pulling off some gunk from the blade. Pastor Jim had eyed him, but like his father he let the situation go.

And so, three am easily turned into four am and Dean's eyes were heavy with sleep. His body, however, was aching and there seemed to be no position or breathing or anything to calm it. His entire stay there, Dean had only cut twice. He was used to cutting now every week at least once. He didn't even need that much of predisposition guilt to set him off. The guilt seemed to pour out of him. It seemed to live in him and breed further into him.

In all truth, the only reason that he seemed to continue the cutting was because he seemed fascinated by it now. The feel of the blade as it penetrated his skin and the look of the blood as it breathed into the air. It marveled him how he could continuously endure pain and keep being so active and lively. It thrilled him that after bandaging himself up and walking into the same room as his expert hunter father and sometimes a few of his elite friends, none noticed the change in him. Dean was convinced that he had it all mastered.

Except of course the increasing need that had panged him this week and especially tonight.

Dean rose from his bed and walked over to the window. Sure enough, the stars were still there, monitoring him. They might have been the only ones that knew of his nightly battle. And they would be the only witnesses tonight as he left the room and headed towards the bathroom at the end of the hall.

Pastor Jim heard the teen's footsteps and curiously stepped into the hall, startling Dean as he passed the room.

"Dean? What are you doing up at this time of night?"

"Pastor Jim!" Dean says into the night. His eyes are wide and he is clearly startled.

"Dean, you should be sleeping. You look like you haven't slept all night," noted the man as he inspected the teen's face and droopy pose. At this, Dean straightened up and hardened his face.

"I was going to get something to eat." Dean said. In truth, he and Sammy had had to skip most of dinner since John's military ways called for no dinner on his young sons when they got themselves into deep trouble.

Pastor Jim nodded and Dean was forced to walk past the bathroom and down the stairs into the kitchen where he made himself a sandwich and sat to eat it. He eyed the drawer in the cabinet, but not only was it way too risky to use the kitchen utensils, it was so unsanitary.

John came into their room at six sharp and was ushering his sons to awaken. Dean sat up groggy in his bed, but Sam remained still. Sam was such a sound sleeper that it was a rather difficult daily task to wake the boy every morning.

Dean got out of bed and into the bathroom as John literally plucked Sam off the bed. Dean grinned at the sight of his kid brother thrashing around and his father threatening to toss him into the bathtub. He hadn't had a chance to do anything the previous night and he knew that this morning would be no different. In less than twenty minutes, Dean was showered, dressed and shaven as he walked out the bathroom.

Sam ran past him into the bathroom with a mutter about unfair fathers and cruel wakeup techniques.

They ate breakfast in silence and Pastor Jim offered to drive them to the high, seeing as Dean had to hand over the keys to his precious Impala the night before. They pulled into the high and the boys both got out of the pastor's four wheel drive. Dean always thought it cool that he could be a man for god and have such a cool car.

"Your father should be picking you boys up at three sharp. Don't dawdle around, _Dean_." Dean eyed the man with his innocent eyes and placid face.

"Who me? I would _never_." Says Dean.

"Yeah, you. No girl's worth you're Daddy being even madder at you two."

"Are you mad at us, Pastor Jim?" asked Sammy. He might have turned thirteen, but he certainly kept his childhood cuteness to peak.

"Boys will be boys, son," Pastor Jim said as he pulled the car out of parking and into drive. Sammy leaned off the window and backed into Dean standing right behind him. Dean merely shoved him aside and they stood there side by side.

"Especially you two," added the pastor. "I just wish you wouldn't do it during my sermons." And he left chuckling.

The day went as normal as any could go for a Winchester. During history, Dean slept and awoke to a pop quiz that he's pretty sure that he passed seeing as he studied about ancient runes three years ago after that one house that they went after had all those ancient symbols in it. During lunch, Sam was bothered by some kid and Dean stepped in. During math, Sam's test was returned and though his methods were slightly questioned, all his answers were correct.

Before either wanted it to be, it was three in the afternoon and they stood outside of the school waiting for their father. Hoping against hope that he would forget or be late, John appeared by the curb right on time. They had to do one hour of sparring and another hour of target practice. Afterwards, they worked out as their father went and spoke with Pastor Jim and then someone else on the phone. At six, John told them they could stop and to go shower and start on their homework. At eight they had a quick dinner and John headed out for the night. They then went to work on the basement and as soon as they started to clean it on, Dean became too dour.

Dean started dropping things and was lolling around, tripping over things and seemingly forgetting what he was doing. After ten minutes of this, Sam stopped him.

"Dean?" Sam said as he grabbed his brother's arm, halting his fall towards some boxes marked Easter decorations. Dean straightened himself off and walked away like nothing had happened.

"Dean, you okay?" asked Sam again.

"Dude, I'm fine." Dean says calmly to Sam's slightly alarmed face. "Can't a guy trip over something? I mean, look at all this junk. Bet he was just waiting for someone, meaning _us_, to do something stupid and then have us clean up this crap pile."

"Dean," Sammy says and he doesn't look one bit convinced. "What's wrong?" Sam asks and he takes a wary step towards his brother.

"_Nothing_ is wrong, Sammy." Dean says as he moves away from him and starts piling things up again.

"You're lying," Sam says as he crosses his arms over his chest and glares at the elder. "I can tell you're lying cause you won't even look at me." Dean turns and looks at him now. He sticks his arms out as if to say 'see, I'm fine' and gets back to work.

"You're acting like a dumbass," Sam says softly and it's not meant to be an insult but an observation.

"It's been a long day, Sam." Dean replies not looking back at him. And it has been a long day. Not only with all the things that they had to do as punishment and regular training. Not even with school and all their homework. Dean had spent the entire day trying to ignore his growing inner need. He was becoming really frustrated and anxious and he knew that time was running out before he started lashing out. And seeing as Sam was the one person that was almost always around him, he was afraid that he'd lash out on him.

It wasn't Sammy's fault, Dean knew that. It wasn't his father's, the teacher's, or the pastor's fault. It was his own fault and he had to deal with it all on his own. That's just how things were. He knew that if he didn't control this fast, meaning today, that his lashing out would give him grave consequences.

"You're not acting like yourself," observes Sam in this soft tone that he's been using for a few minutes now. It's really getting on Dean's nerves and the kid better start doing his work or Dean's going to blow up on him.

And he's not acting like himself. He's acting like an ass and he knows it. A week back he had an argument with his father that hadn't ended too well on his end and if that's not weird and out of character he's not sure what is. That day, John had warned him that if he didn't start pulling his act together real quick that he'd have to do it for him and it sure as hell wouldn't be pretty if it came to that.

So, Dean had to handle this and fast. So, no lashing out. And no killing Sammy, so he has to ignore the never ending questions that always seem to come out of the kid.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asks as he sharply twists around suddenly in Sam's face.

"Nothing," Sam says taking a step back.

"If it meant nothing," Dean says taking a step towards him now. Ok, so not lashing out is now out of the question. "why'd you say it?"

"Dean," Sam says softly. He speaks slowly now, gentle for as to not frighten Dean or force him to do anything. He can tell his brother isn't himself and it's worrying him. He's seen this happen before, and he knows why his brother gets like this. He's known for some time now. He's so close to telling their father that if Dean doesn't calm down soon, he'll tell him this very day.

"Sammy, just shut up and finish this shit up, alright. I'm not in the mood for this." Dean interrupts Sam before the kid has any chance to offer comfort or warning.

"You've got to stop this!" Sam yells out suddenly as Dean turns around and starts trying to get busy again.

Dean turns around and looks at him now angry. Sam knows he shouldn't have said anything, not like this. Not when they're alone in a basement and surrounded by so much junk that it'd be difficult to make a fast and clear dash out of there.

"Stop _this?_" Dean repeats and he's towering over Sam in a second. "Stop _what_, Sammy?" Dean asks in a whisper and Sam can honestly say that he has no idea how to get out of this. He knows that Dean wouldn't hurt him, but he also knows that if someone is in the state of anxiety that he thinks Dean's at right now, then there's no telling what he would do.

"Stop hurting yourself." Sam responds. And he's being very daring as he looks Dean dead in the eye.

"What are you talking about?" Dean says taking a half step back. There's no way that Sam knows he's still doing this. He only does it for sure when the kid's asleep or away from him. He only does it where Sam won't go when he's there. They've given each other plenty of space since Dean became a teen but they've always remained close.

"Come on, bro." Sam says and he sounds so fragile and young that it almost kills him. He looks down at his shoes and starts fiddling with them for a minute before talking again. "You know what I'm talking about."

Sam looks back up at him and the tears that he's not trying to hide flow down his face. He sounds and looks so much like that ten year old that caught him in the bathroom that it breaks Dean's heart.

Sam turns around and picks up some old leather bound book and he starts fingering the spine.

"I... I don't know what you _think_ is going on," Dean starts trying to explain himself, but he knows he's failing miserably.

Sam turns back around at that. He looks angry now; the new thirteen year old in him is springing to effect.

"Don't try and lie to me, Dean. I know, ok. I _know_."

"No, you don't."

"Yes! I _do!_ I know Dean and you've got to stop this!"

"Sammy…"

"No," and he's yelling now and all in Dean's face too. He's so mad that he's shaking. "Don't _Sammy_ me! I'm not a little kid, Dean! I've known since that night! You never stopped! You've just covered up better. I don't need to see you do it, to know you're doing it. I'm not Dad, Dean. I _know_ you. You've never lied to me, not even then. Don't start now. Please, I need to know that I can at least still count on that."

They both stand there in silence and Dean's not sure on what to say.

"Sammy," he tries again. But Sam interrupts again as he steps forward and grabs Dean's left arm.

Sam's so nervous and tearful that he almost misses what he's looking for as he pulls back Dean's sleeve. Sure enough, right by Dean's elbow is at least two scars of the most recent release. Sam's gripping Dean's left wrist with his right hand tightly to ensure that it's not all a horrible dream. His own left comes up and touches the scars as Dean tries to yank his arm loose.

Sam pulls his brother into a tight hug and cries into Dean's chest. He's muttering something that Dean can't hear but he can feel it cut him like a blade. Dean doesn't know how to comfort him and he can't help but remember the night that Sam walked in on him. Remember the look on his face and his own promise that he would never do that again to his baby brother.

"'M sorry, Sammy," he says after a few minutes. Sam's still crying and Dean's still standing stiff. He can't reach out to him, can't comfort him and its killing him. He's supposed to be stronger than this and protect the kid, but he can't seem to stop failing in that simple task.

"Stop it, stop it, stop it," Sam cries into his chest and his fists tighten into the back of Dean's shirt.

Dean can't stand this anymore. He's caught between wanting to stop the steady stream running through Sam and rushing away from this scene altogether and upstairs to the bathroom, screw whatever else is going on. However, the second choice really isn't a choice and Dean knows that. He can't leave his baby brother like this no matter what. And besides, if he did then Sam would be free to run to their father and Dean was sure that John wouldn't take this so lightly.

Before Dean's conscious of doing it, his arms encircle the younger and if at all possible pull him in tighter. He never could fool Sammy, and his tears are downright killing him. No promises are said this time. Neither knows what to say and both are so caught up in the moment - pulling themselves together and not losing the bond with the other- that they almost miss out on John's call down the stairs to call it a day and head to bed.

Sam watches him all night long; Dean can feel his eyes boring holes into him. The next morning Sam's waiting outside the bathroom door and he's done in ten minutes, skipping his shower and downstairs besides his brother eating breakfast. The entire ride to school, neither says a word and when Pastor Jim asks them what's the matter it's Sam who mentions a long day the day before and exhaustion.

Sam's watching Dean during lunch as well. Normally, the brothers sit with their own friends but within eyeshot of the other. Today Sam sat with Dean. In all sincerity, Dean could smack the kid. It's not like he's going to openly cut during lunch. But the real truth is that it really doesn't bother him in the slightest to have him around. He's just glad that the kid isn't mad at him and that he hasn't ratted him out.

After school they train and then head over to the church yard where they have to change the words on the display board there. They spend the entire time in silence and it is very rare for either to go this long without one word to the other. But Sam refused to leave Dean and the elder didn't mind it much.

So when they were told to go upstairs and do their homework, neither complained. As soon as they reached their room, however, Sammy chose to break the blissful silence.

"Dean, are you going to stop this?" Dean didn't reply as he pulled out a few notebooks and headed over to the desk, facing away from the door and effectively his brother.

Sam followed suit and grabbed his own books as he stretched out on his bed. He, however, refused to remain quiet.

"I looked it up, you know." He says as he opens his history notebook and flips to his homework. As expected, Dean pretends that he said nothing and continues with his work. "I know that you can't just stop. I think that by now, it's more of an addiction than a release, right?"

Sam starts in on his work and the scratching of pencils on paper is the only sounds in the room for a minute or two.

"I also know that you don't want Dad to know. So, I'll tell you this much," and his pencils stopped but Dean's still writing. "If you do it again, I'm telling. I don't care what you try and do to me, I'll run and tell Dad or Pastor Jim. And if they're not here, I'll call them or Caleb or someone. I'll tell I swear."

"Don't" Dean says and his pencils stopped moving now but he's still looking down at his work.

"Will you stop?"

"I... I don't know if I can, Sammy." Dean says honestly.

"I'll help you. I'll do whatever you want me to, I promise. But, you've got to promise too." At this, Dean does turn around.

"Promise what?"

Sam stands up and walks over to his brother. He stands in front of him and he assures that they've locked eyes before he speaks again.

"Promise that if, no _when_, you wanta hurt yourself again, you'll come to me."

"Come to you? For what Sammy?"

"Support," Sam says with a shrug. Dean smirks at him slightly. He really can't see how his kid brother will be able to support him with the burden. However, he can't promise something that he won't keep and the damn kid knows that. He knows that Dean would never let him down and that's why he's all in his face right now. As if sensing his thoughts, Sam speaks again.

"Maybe talking about whatever's making you do it won't make you have to do that so much. And then you won't need to at all. Like therapy or something, but cheap and without Dad's knowing.

"I mean, with time we can figure it out. But enough's enough Dean. And if it were me doing this, you'd have already hightailed my ass for this. You'd tell Dad or you'd stop me yourself. What makes you think I can't do the same? And don't say cause I'm younger. I'm thirteen now, you know"

"You'd never do something like this, Sammy." Dean says with all confidence.

"I'd be too scared of what you'd do to me to even think it." Sam says honestly.

"Well, you're getting smart in your old age," Dean says with a smirk as he reaches over and ruffles his hair. He's trying to distract from the point but Sam's not so easily diverted.

"You gotta promise, Dean." Sam says dodging under his brother's arm. Dean rolls his eyes but Sam counters. "If you don't, I'll go and tell Dad this second. And he's not one for talking, Dean. You know that. I don't think you need a reminder and he won't care that you're seventeen now, he's said so."

Dean doesn't budge but the thought of his brother telling on him and the knowledge that his father would very well tear him a new one is nerve racking. Sam takes the silence as an answer and starts walking towards the door.

Dean grabs his shirt and pulls him backwards into his lap. He wraps his arms around him in a hug like lock. Sam doesn't struggle and doesn't try to hide his smile as Dean whispers 'I promise'. Sam turns and hugs him back and then hops off.

"Alright, that's enough. I've got homework to do, you know." Said Sam as he headed back to his bed.

"Nerd," Dean replies as he turns back to his own work.

"Jerk," Sam says lying on his belly looking directly at the back of his brother, who shakes his head.

"Bitch," he counters.

tbc... sniff I am just too cruel sometimes...I know, but wasn't this good?...I know, I know :'(...Friday, so don't forget to watch the new episode!!!


	13. Lights

******WARNINGS: Self-Mutilation, Language; Insults not tintended to offend anyone personally. **

**Disclaimer: Winchesters are not mine. Let's all be sad together.**

**Departing** **Thoughts**

_He's awake, bandaged, but aliuve. Sam and John are at his side and he's okay..._

**Lights**

By: chocolate rules

Walking into Dean's hospital room, you could find Sam asleep in the chair by Dean's bed. He's covered in that dark green hospital blanket that Nurse Sara had brought for him. His hand crept away from its warmth and through the bars on Dean's bed, grasping his brother's hand in return.

John's blanket was set in the other chair on Dean's other side. He was standing by the window, looking out at the mostly mountainous scenery. John listened closely to the soft breathing of both of his sons and let it lure him into his own thoughts.

He could absolutely not believe what Sammy had said to him. Dean had done this before. How could he have missed this? How was it that when he strived to get every minuscule detail about a hunt that he could still falter on the ones that constantly pranced around him? There had been many signs he noticed now; signs which he had not picked up on before. He had thought that Sammy had been difficult, that he had been spared the raging hormones from his first born. He had thought that Dean understood their lifestyle and had embraced it, knowing nothing else really. And then to have the turnout be that he had just overlooked his son's own harsh reactions. John hung his head, he should have known.

Everything had been so cold. The feelings of emptiness had been overwhelming. The shear thought crashing through him had almost consumed him. But it had all ended with the darkness. The darkness that he had, for once in his life, welcomed with opened arms.

Warmth was trickling over him now. It started somewhere by his toes and worked its way up. It hurt most on his chest and wrists, where he had harmed himself, but then he hadn't expected it not to. He had always figured that he could not leave without some companion of pain.

Maybe, all along, he had been preparing himself for it.

The stillness around him slurred slightly. John turned from the window and glanced over the room. A second later, the sound came again and then he noticed what it was. Dean's breathing pattern was changing. He was coming to.

John moved to Sam's side and shook his shoulder slightly, enough to stir him, but not enough to alarm him. Normally, he would probably prefer to speak with Dean alone at first, get him to come clean. But this was no normal situation, not even by their standards. This was a whole set of new territory for all of them, but him especially. If Sam had managed to talk to Dean about this before, then he could be a good lead in now. John was so far out of his element at the moment that he didn't mind the added assistance.

Sam shifted in his sleep before opening his eyes. He saw his father above him, watching him awake. John nudged his head towards Dean and he turned his head to view his brother. He could see the changing rise and fall on Dean's chest and hear the pattern change in his breathing. He sat up straighter.

"He's waking," Sam said softly. John nods.

Both edge closer to the bed. Sam tightens his hold on his hand, almost trying to lure Dean to awareness.

A warm presence grabs his hand. It's almost silly to think, _the hand of _God? Well, that sounds stupid even to him. But he was cold before and now he's warm. He feels himself start to breath and becomes more aware of what he's feeling.

_Dean_

Wow, God sounds a lot like Dad.

_Dean_

There it is again. Maybe that's not god. Maybe he's in hell.

_Come on, Dean._

Sammy? No, can't be hell. Sammy would _not_ be in hell. He killed enough bitches to

make sure of it.

_Come on bro, please._

Limbo, that's it. He's in limbo.

_Son, come on. Wake up._

Wake up? So they had finally found him. 'Bout time really. Hunters, tsh. He could have killed himself twice over before these two ever got to him.

_Damnit Dean!_

The hand tightens on his hand. Ok, so not the hand of God, got it.

John and Sam stood by Dean's beside, nothing had happened for quite some time, only his breathing had changed.

Sam's not sure about his father, but he knows he can't handle anymore of this. He's just this close to start trying to shake Dean awake, but he manages to only keep tightening his hold on his brother's hand. By now, he can only imagine that he's going to end up with Dean's hand severed from his arm.

John has been calling Dean's name, along with Sam, for a few minutes now. Dean seems to be responding to it. He tightened his fingers around Sam's hand when Sammy first spoke. When he spoke though, it was as if Dean was between turning to and away from his calling.

Both Winchesters could not stand it anymore. It had been such a grueling day and they were both very tired. They had both managed to be admitted into Dean's room and had hoped to see him awaken soon. That had been a good four hours ago.

Nurse Sara had checked in regularly with them to check if they needed anything or if Dean had shown any change. Nothing had changed the first hour and it had been well passed one in the morning by then. She had brought them the blankets saying that they would be allowed to remain in the room, which was private, as long as they didn't interfere with any of the medical crew. Since they weren't planning on leaving the room that had been no problem.

Sam pressed the call button once Dean's eyes started fluttering. They hadn't yet opened when Nurse Sara appeared at the doorway.

"Any problems?" she asked peering in. When she noticed that they were both very alert to Dean's every move and hovering over him she understood that he was coming to.

Sara moved closer to the bed. She looked at Dean's face and could see his fluttering eyes.

"He's been stirring for about three minutes now, but he just won't wake up," said Sam in a low tone.

John had by now moved to the other side of the bed, Sam and Nurse Sara at the other end. Standing by the machines as he was, he didn't need to turn to see the changes in Dean's heart and breathing pattern. All things pointed to his son waking up, all things but Dean himself.

Nurse Sara gently grabbed Dean's wrist and began taking his pulse and tapping him at the base of his palm. John watched as she did this but saw no change in his son's reactions. Sam kept his hold on Dean's hand and refused to look away from him. It was almost as if he thought that if he didn't keep a safe look out for it, then he would either miss the moment they slit open or he would lose his connection with his brother and Dean would no longer open them.

He could feel someone else touching him. He figured that limbo would be more peaceful. He was glad that his brother and father had stopped trying to make him 'wake up'. Maybe they had finally realized that he was gone. Maybe he had given them that thing they needed to be able to join together.

He job was now done. He could relax and leave in peace.

He just wished that the hands would understand that and stop tapping him before he started tapping back.

"Open your eyes," she tried to coax him again.

"Come on, Dean. Wake up. Come on big brother." Sam kept chanted in a whisper.

John wasn't saying much of anything, just watching the exchange. He was watching his son's interaction, witnessing the bound once more. This was going to be very hard on Sammy, he could tell. Not that a near break down would stop Sam from tearing into Dean the first chance he could. He would need that alliance with his youngest. Together, they were damn stubborn and could make Dean stop. They could, and _would_, help him where no other person could.

"That's it!" he hears Sam say and he's back to watching and done thinking for now.

"Just a bit more, bro." Sam says, he's just near jumping onto the elder to make him comply.

Dean's eyes slowly flicker once more. Then, just as they have been waiting for what seems like ages now, his hazel eyes open up to them.

The white, everything, is a dead give away. Ok, so maybe not the white exactly but the people there, was defiantly a give away. He was not dead. He was very much alive.

Dean's eyes shifted between shut and closed, trying to refocus to the bright lights around him. He could barely make out the forms of his father and brother on either side of him and a lady in a nurse uniform further down.

A few seconds later and he could make them all out.

"'ey" he rasped out. He could see Sam's eyes watering and his father's face relax.

"Hey," Sam whispered back.

"Glad you're awake," the nurse said to him with a huge smile. She put down his other hand across his chest. "I'll let the doctor know you're awake now."

"Thanks Sara," John said with a nod at her.

Dean watched as the _hot_ nurse made her way to the door. She turned around, a genuine smile on her face and nodded to his father before closing the door behind her. Sam was sobbing now besides him, and you would think that he had really died with the amount of tears the kid was letting fall. He wondered slightly if he had said anything while he was out of it.

"Hey," he rasped out again. He tugged his hand, the one still with Sam, enough to let him know he was talking with him. Sam looked over at him now and smiled weakly.

Sam looked up to John and motioned towards the pitcher of water there besides him. John pulled off a paper cup and brought it to Dean's lips. Dean drank slowly but soon enough emptied the cup. He smiled thanks up to his father who smiled back at him.

"Welcome back, son." John said passing a hand through Dean's short hair. Dean eyed his father curiously before offering a smile again.

"Yeah, thanks," he said.

Absentminded, Dean reaches the hand from his chest over to the wrist on the hand by Sam. He reaches to touch the scars, remind himself almost why he's here. Before he reaches his wrist however, John's own hand grips his forearm, avoiding the wrist. Dean looks over to him.

"No, Dean." He says to him like he's some little kid again. He places his hand back on his chest, still looking at him. "Seems like you have a lot of explaining to do."

Dean can feel his throat tightening again. Sammy's still teary, but he's at least done crying and he'll be able to talk again soon.

"Dean," he starts. He's shaking his head and Dean's looking right at him now. Their eyes have locked, so he can tell all the things that are passing through the younger's head, even if he can't bring himself to say it.

_Dean, how could you? Why'd you do it? I thought you were done with this. I thought that you had overcome this. I thought you were bigger than this. I thought that if you needed me, you knew I'd be there._

"'M sorry," Dean rasps out again, this time choking up on himself and not from a dry throat. He looks down and watches himself fisting the sheet, twirling his fingers about it. He is sorry. Always had been. But maybe it's never for the right reasons.

The door opens and the doctor enters, followed by Nurse Sara who closes the door once more. Dr. Grey introduces himself to Dean, but Dean's focus remains on his hand. Sam's hold has lessened on his other hand, but he's yet to let go. His fingers are caressing the back of Dean's hand and Dean selfishly wishes that he would stop because he really can't see why he deserves his brother's sympathy.

Dr. Grey starts asking him questions, but Dean has yet to look up to him. He's shutting out. Sam can tell. Dean does this a lot and he's been doing it a lot more lately. It's never good when Dean shuts others out, and it's hard to get him back into the swing of things.

He's bandaged and awake now. He's alive, yet he's sure that he should have died today. But he's not dead, and he's trying to be happy about that. He has his father and his kid brother besides him and he's okay. He doesn't see any need to answer any of this Grey guy's questions and so, why even bother looking up to him. He can feel Dad's gaze on him and he knows he's making him mad but he really can't bring himself to care about that either.

tbc... THANKS to **sokerfreek922** who had been betaing this for me when I was writing it up during last year and summer, I named Sara after her :D Thanks!


	14. Silence

_**By now, you know the warnings :D So, enjoy!!!**_

**Departing** **Thoughts**

**Silence**

By: chocolate rules

Dean sat silently listening to the morning nurses' recollection of her fat cat. She was an elderly woman, nothing like the night shift Nurse Sara. She checked over his vitals and jollily spoke to him about how she was delighted that he was finally awake now. She had apparently been bragging about her hot new charge to the other nurses, but there really was nothing to brag about if he was out cold.

Sam was sound asleep besides his bed in a bed that they had brought in for him. It wasn't as comfy as Dean's, but it was a lot softer than a lot of the motel beds that they made a point of sleeping at. He was covered in the same blanket that Dean had seen him in only hours ago when he had first woken up.

Dean watched as his nurse, Nurse Bennie, finished on him and tried to get him to comment on anything that she had said, but to no avail. Since he had spoken those few words to his family, he hadn't said another word.

Nurse Bennie left the room and Dean was content on just listening to Sammy's breathing. After spending the better part of an hour with the family and asking Dean questions that he refused to answer, the doctor asked John to follow him to his office. They had spent a good hour and a half there and Dean was really starting to wonder what in all of heaven and hell they were talking about. He knew he was interesting, but damn not _that_ interesting.

The soft sounds of Sammy's constant and unfaltering breathing brought Dean to a semi-restful sleep.

Dean could hear slight commotion in his room now, but he chose to ignore it. He could clearly make out his father's commanding voice and could not sense any danger, so what would the point of waking up be?

Then there were two rough hands grasping his arms and giving him a good shake. Reluctantly, Dean opened his eyes not at all surprised to find his father right there. The room was deserted of nurse and doctors, a first since Dean had awoken.

Sam stood by his father's side, looking as if he had just woken up from his slumber. He too was looking at Dean with huge curious eyes and Dean could tell that the time came for the questions and accusations to begin.

"Dean," he heard his father say. Dean looked back at him and offered him nothing more than his undivided attention.

John was acting quite unsure of himself as he released his son and sat down besides him. Sam remained standing, his eyes shifting between his father and his older brother.

"Dean, we need to talk. _You_ need to talk," John said, never breaking the eye contact that Dean had established. Dean was always one to come up with an excuse, any excuse to not have a talk with his father and it nerved the man to find his son silent just staring back at him.

"Dean, you can't act like this," continues John. Dean seems unfazed by his words and continues his blank staring.

"This isn't like you, man," adds Sammy quietly. Surprisingly enough, Dean doesn't even seem to register that he had even spoken since he didn't break contact with his father.

"Dean, I know that it must have hurt and all… and, I don't know, maybe you feel kind of…like wrong or weak because you did this. Maybe that's why you don't want to talk. But, it's not like that, I swear. No ones thinking that." Sam says, sitting on Dean's bed now.

Dean has yet to look at him. It's not everyday, or any day for that matter, that Dean ignores his baby brother. Sam has always been Dean's first and main priority. He puts his brother above everyone and everything. Both Winchesters would be lying if they said that this very un-Dean like behavior didn't send all sorts of cold chills up their spines.

"Your brother's right, Dean." John says once Sam's voice shelters back now. "No one's thinking badly of you. The doctor's trying to help you." John expected a scoff or an eye roll at that, but nothing. He had spent their entire lives telling them that the doctors and policemen couldn't really help them, that they would never understand the perils of their life.

Dean just kept his eyes on him, blinked twice and leaned back down, preparing to go back to sleep. If his father resorted to stating the 'goods' from the doctor's, then there really was nothing much else for them to say.

tbc...Um, depends, people still want me to continue this? Cause, the response is like, blah:D Show me some love, no show DEAN love (ahhh Dean :D) and Review!!


	15. Warning

**Departing** **Thoughts**

_John isn't the kind of father that walks on eggshells around his boys..._

**Warning**

By: chocolate rules

Dean's been awake now for three hours. Sam's sitting up on the other bed. He easily won control over the remote and was flipping through the channels. On occasion, he'd stop on a show or on a commercial and would comment on it. At first, he tried to get a reaction from his brother, but then he was just content to just talk to him.

Dr. Grey had entered an hour ago, spoke briefly to him and left them with a quick nod. The shifts were changing and Nurse Bennie had come in and said good night a few moments ago and assured him that Nurse Sara would take good care of him, that she had trained her herself. She spoke more to Sam and even traded a laugh before leaving.

Dean was always the one to flirt. No matter what age the woman was, he would find a way to compliment them on something. Young girls and old ladies alike would find him charming and giggle at his attempts. So, it felt very odd for Sam to be doing the 'Dean' role just now.

It was now roughly fourteen hours since he had first woken up. John entered the room once more and tossed Sam a takeout bag. He hadn't gotten any for Dean since Dr. Grey insisted on maintaining him on a diet to increase his blood count but not endanger anything. When John had mentioned this to him, he was once more taken aback at his lack of response. Dean lived off of cheeseburger and fries, and had never willingly allowed anyone to deny him without a fight.

John walked right on over and sat in the seat besides Dean's bed. After a few more channels changes, he told Sam to pick something or shut the thing off and closed his eyes, allowing thoughts to come but fighting the sleep. Since two nights ago, he hadn't had a wink of sleep. He couldn't allow himself the luxury of sleeping while worrying over Dean's condition and why his normally loud mouthed son was suddenly silent.

Sam settled on an old movie, the Goonies, which had been one of his favorites as a kid. Dean had teased him about it for some time, but he knew that he liked it too. He was content to just sit there and watch the movie, allow everything else to slip away for the moment.

Dean twisted to watch oddly out the window. In truth, from this position, he could better make out Sam - the movie - and could avoid his father's gaze. John watched as he turned to the window and could practically read these thoughts, but chose to deal with them later.

A few nurses had been passing in and out and doing odd jobs around the room for the last few hours now. All were trying to garner some kind of reaction from him, but none had yet to gain any. A few had caught Sam's eyes, though, and one had even slipped her number into his hand as he slept. Dean had watched her as she did this and had glared at her when she had turned back and their eyes had met. It was the only reaction Dean had given anyone, but wasn't the kind that she'd go on bragging about either, so no one was told about the incident. And no one had seen as Dean reached over and pulled the paper from his kid brother's hand, crumpled it, and tossed it into the trash bin by the door.

It was this nurse that entered now. John heard the door but his eyes opened when he registered the change in Dean's breathing. He looked up to her, Nurse Amy, and she slowly walked in.

"Dr Grey said to change Dean's IV pack," she said as she walked around John's chair and to the IV pack.

"Sure thing," John replied as he watched her do this.

Sam seemed oblivious to anything in the room. The Goonies had just made it to the caves and Data was setting the booby traps. It was Sam's favorite part in the movie since Data was a pretty smart kid and Dean had always laughed at how he said _booby trap_.

John watched though with slight alarmed awareness as Dean's eyes intensified around the nurse. He was watching her closely and he had the closest thing to a death glare that John had seen in days.

Amy reached over to remove Dean's IV when suddenly Dean ripped it off himself. He tossed the dislodged object at the floor besides her, and coincidently by his father's feet.

Instantly, John and Sam were both on their feet. They couldn't see any danger around, but something was pissing Dean off. Amy seemed taken aback by the motion.

"Mr. Wilder," she said to Dean, who was now sitting himself up. He had a fixed glare secured on his face and continued to watch her. "I have to change your IV. Without it, you won't be able to get the medication in." she said, sounding like she was pleading.

John watched the exchanged and wondered why Dean had taken his first motions in hours to be hostile and against a nurse, one that he was pretty sure Dean hadn't even seen before. He intended to get answers now. He had never allowed this sort of behavior from his sons and now, this far along in their lives, he wasn't about to let Dean treat this girl like that and let him get away with it.

"Maybe in a little while, Amy," John said as he peered back towards her. She was slowly retreating towards the door from behind John. "I think that we would like to be left alone for a few minutes." He added.

"Of course," she said as she reached the door and closed it behind her.

"What was that about?" Sam asked looking up to his father.

Instead of answering, John sat down by Dean once more. Dean's easing himself back into the bed but he's stopped by his father's hands under his arms pulling him forward. John isn't the kind of father that walks on eggshells around his boys. He taught them respect and to acknowledge authorities, even bogus ones. And he sure as hell taught them to respect woman.

"What the hell was _that_?" John asked instead to Dean. He gets no response and he pulled Dean forward more, right up close to him.

"This stops now, boy. The silence, the attitude; _gone_." John says in a tone that both boys knew to mean trouble. Dean seemed visibly taken by this act, but John didn't slow down once.

"I think that we've given you plenty of space, kid. Before any more docs or nurses come back in here and fix this little scene you created, you're going to come clean. And I'll just have you know that you're really trying my patience on this."

"Dad?" Sam asked softly as he took a step towards the bed, movie long forgotten.

"Sam, enough's enough." John replied still looking at his eldest. "Start talking Dean." John added as he placed Dean back on the bed. "_Now_"

tbc...:D Soon! Love yas! Okay, let's just say that John's really worried for his boy and that he just can't understand antything that's going on. If we cam all agree on one thing, it's that John always has to be in control. And for the first time in twenty two years, John has no control over his eldest. So, he's not a meanie...he's just worried, okay:D


	16. Talk

**I'm just so very mean to Dean. :'( Well, I hope this makes people happy...**

**Thanks **TJ** for the review, love to have new readers :D**

**Departing** **Thoughts**

_He hung his head low and his voice was soft but they heard him none the less..._

**Talk**

By: chocolate rules

Both brothers were taken aback by their father's tactics. They'd been sitting there for the last ten minutes without anyone saying a word.

Dean was staring down at his fidgeting hands. In all reality, John's attitude change from caring to aggressive brought him back to his childhood. It wasn't often that Dean got into trouble, but when he did it was usually not too pretty on his side. Sam was always on the receiving end of John's arguments and anger as they grew up. Both boys learned real quick that they didn't want to mess with that tone, and yet here he was twenty-seven years old and being glared down upon with such intensity that it was impossible to not feel unfazed.

Sam watched as Dean continued to fidget with his hands. He gaze shifted to his father who was sitting in the same seat besides Dean's hospital bed. John didn't look pleased as he watched his eldest squirm around in the bed, avoiding all contacts to the two other Winchesters. Sam was sitting up on his 'bed' and watching as the tension continued to rise in the room.

It was weird to be on the offense with Dad instead of the defense with Dean. It was weirder still to see Dean react to it in this way. In all his life, the only times he could remember his brother being silent was when he was sick. And even then, their father had to continuously tell him to quite talking and that every comment didn't need a smart ass remark.

Suddenly, John's came up and smacked at Dean's hands. Instantly, Dean stopped his fidgeting and looked up with angered eyes towards his father. John's gaze bore into his own eyes not faltering in the slightest.

Sam watched as the elder Winchesters held each other's gaze. He seemed to be the only one that was uneasy from the growing stares.

Dean started to lower his gaze again at the same time that his hands were beginning to fiddle. Once more, John reached out towards his hands and smacked them down. He then reached over and lifted Dean's chin up so that Dean's eyes were locked with his. They stared at each other for a second before John finally broke the stilled silence.

"What part of this has gone on long enough was hard to understand?" he asked. Dean was once again taken aback by his father, but this time he was faster to recover.

"Dean, we really don't have time for this! I want you to start talking; Now!" John ordered as his eyes flared with persistent anger and intimidation. He hated repeating himself. It was a waste of energy and time and absolutely pointless to John. In the Winchester Guide/Rule Book, repetition was a big no-no.

It was one of the rare times that he had to repeat himself to Dean; the first that it had nothing to do with his brother. This whole side of Dean was completely new to the Winchesters. Sammy was everything to Dean. John could make his eldest do just about anything if he could show him the threat that it was against his brother. But this Dean before him seemed almost oblivious to his brother and the younger's needs.

For the first time in a rather long time, John was almost stumped on how to address his son. He didn't know what was going through Dean's mind and it scared the skin right off of him knowing he couldn't just go out and kill something to fix this.

John throw a gaze to his youngest hoping that the tighter bond the boys held would give something to Sam that might help them out. Sam seemed completely unsure and that nerved him further.

"Dean?" Sam said softly as he rose from his bed and sat down besides his brother. He really wasn't sure of what he could say to Dean. It was true that he could make Dean do just about anything for him, he'd known that all his life and he had noticed that nothing had changed between them since he had returned to his brother. However, as hard as it was to admit or unbelievable as it sounded, it was Dean that was better with words than Sam had ever been.

"Look man," Sam starts out as he grabs hold of one of Dean's hands and clasps it between both of his hands. "I don't know what's going on right now, but…but I think I know what it's about." Sam said softly. His voice was placid and non-threatening, a complete contrast to his father's previous approach.

John's hold on Dean had already broken and Dean was now staring slightly to John's right, away from both his father and brother. Though he was tempted to once again force Dean into eye contact, John noticed that Sam's approach had at least softened his face.

"I mean," continued Sam as he now stared at their linked hands, "the outbreak kind of told most of what was going on in your head right then. But that's not it, is it? It's not really about me and Dad, is it? It goes further than that."

John watched as Dean bit his lip slightly and turned to face Sam briefly before he mirrored Sam's gaze and looked at their joined hands.

"That time I caught you," Sam starts again. He feels Dean tense at the mention of the memory and John can see it. "I didn't argue with Dad at ten, Dean."

It was John who tenses at those words. Sam had caught him when he had been ten? That made Dean fourteen. His son had been cutting himself since he was a teenager, and he had had no idea.

"_How long, Sam?"_

"_Too long," Sam said. John was going to press him for answers but the look that Sam turned and gave him at that moment clamped his mouth shut. Too long. _

Sam stopped talking after that. They all sat in silence and Sam waited for his father to continue. He knew that John understood now how bad this was, how serious. Sam had been just a kid before, didn't know how he could help his older brother. But he wasn't a kid any more, and better more, he couldn't be intimidated into silence. Besides, Dean got himself into this mess. He let himself be caught by their father. If Dean had gotten that desperate, after all these years, then it was defiantly too long.

To both of their surprise, it was Dean who broke the silence this time.

"'M Sorry," he said. Repeating the last phrase that he had said the previous day.

"What?" asked Sam as he looked up and then to his father.

"'M Sorry," he repeated, offering them no explanation.

"For what?" John asked.

"Never meant for you to catch me. Not…not like this." Dean said and he's still staring down at their joint hands.

"Wha-" Sam started. But John cut him off.

"Catch you? Forget about getting caught. You should never have done this in the first place!" John sounds angry now, but he still looks rather concerned.

"You were just a kid," Dean continues, he's quieter now and it's obvious that he's ignoring his father's glance or words. "You…you were innocent, you know? And I…I took that away from you."

Dean's voice sounds broken. His fingers are brushing Sam's hand absentmindedly, even though he's still watching himself do it. His entire form had gone from his tense, defiant one from earlier to a slump defeated one. Neither proved comfort to the younger Winchester.

"You didn't…" he says just as softly and it almost a miracle that the other two hear him. He doesn't know what to say. He's not even one percent sure that if he did know what to say, it would help any.

"But, I did," he says and he's looking up to him, meeting his little brother's tear filled eyes.

Sam's almost taken aback by the pain and worry buried deep within the green. He feels his heart clench at the sight of his beaten brother and wishes beyond hope that this would all just go away. That this was another one of those freaky dreams of his that he'll be able to prevent.

"You were just a kid, Sammy. And I was supposed to protect you. But I didn't. I hurt you."

"No, Dean…"

"You were terrified. You were scared of me. I freak you out so much that you were _scared_ of me. You'd never been scared of me before, but you were that night."

"I wasn't…" Sam tries to say. But it's a lie and Dean's shaking his head softly at him.

"You were going to run for Dad," Dean says and John can feel himself stiffen.

John heard those words leave his eldest and looked over to Sam. His initial anger that the boy hadn't done just that and gone over to him and told him everything right then. At a time when he could have easily put a stop to it with a long talk or if it'd gotten to it a few beltings. A time when he wouldn't have had to learn about it by seeing his son's motionless body surrounded by his own blood. Hurt by his own hand.

"But I convinced you not to. I convinced you that it was okay and that it wouldn't go any further. And then you weren't sacred anymore."

"Yes I was," Sam says so softly that at first he thinks his brother didn't hear him.

"I was too scared. Always have been. I watched you so closely afterwards but I didn't know what I was looking for, so I missed all the signs.

"But I caught on to you. I just wish I would have gone to Dad then." And he looks to his father then, his eyes pleading forgiveness. "I never wanted it to get like this. If I'd known I would have said something. Would have said it that night."

John nods, because Sam's pleading with him and seriously how could he be angry.

"I should have gone to him before," Dean says now looking at his father. "I'm sorry, Dad…" Dean's crying now, but if the other two Winchesters weren't watching him as closely as they were, then they would have missed it.

Two silent tears slid down Dean's cheeks, down to his chin, before dripping onto the comforter clenched within his hands. His breathing was slow and steady, but it was forced rather than calmed.

John reached out again to him, but this time he took hold of one of his son's hands. He held it tightly and tried to convey some confidence and reassurance since he was at a lost for all words.

Sam was silent, watching his brother, trying to decipher what the elder was thinking. Dean was pretty good at hiding his emotions, but Sam was damn good at seeing through all that shield of 'no chick flick emotions' that his brother prided himself on. However, the more Sam looked at him, the more that the real emotions seemed to slowly peel through. However, though he could see his brother's defenses start to crumple, he knew that they were also there to hide something greater, something possibly more dangerous to Dean than his emotions.

tbc...:D...thanks to all who have reviewed! And, see...Dean can still talk, sorta. :D


	17. Never

A/N: Senior Year of high really sucks! Way-ay too many papers to write. Agh! And then I have a thing that I can't say "No" when someone asks me for help. It's a downfall, so I'm kind of writing three other reports too. Anyways, took a break and had to update! Hope people are still out there for this! And Happy Day After St. Patty's Day!

**Departing** **Thoughts**

_He would be under their watchful gase and he would never again be able to cut..._

**Never**

By: chocolate rules

After the entire revelation, the Winchesters were each exhausted. Other than Sam, the two eldest Winchesters were not accustomed to allowing anyone into their minds or telling their emotions. Even when it was their small family or about them, it just seemed to make it that much harder to say.

A few nurses had come in a few minutes after they all spoke. They took Dean's vitals and readjusted the IV on his arm.

Nurse Amy didn't return. Dean had a pretty good idea that she wouldn't be showing her face anywhere near his room for the remainder of his hospital stay.

It had only been minutes since the whole 'talk' situation had happened. Dean had kept his gaze occupied on the television or out the window avoiding both of their gazes. It hadn't taken long for Sam to get the message and move back to his bed. Grabbing the remote one again he started flipping away from the childhood movie and settled on something less _animated _to ease his mind.

John released Dean's hands, but he remained in the seat close besides him. He had watched as the nurses had worked on his eldest, making certain that they knew what they were doing and that no more harm or trauma would happen to him.

Having spent most of the last twenty three years worrying about Sammy and avenging his sweet Mary; he had in fact neglected his eldest. And now here he was paying the price.

John silently berated himself.

For the last twenty years, John honestly called himself a great hunter. He prided himself with being able to take his Marine training to such an extent. He had been glad that he had made loyal kinships with many of his men and that they were able to provide him at times with weapons, ammo, or training grounds. He looked at every minor detail and could track down on a demon's tail from nothingness. He was well known for finding the hardest hunts and kicking serious supernatural ass.

Such great eagle-eye he was, couldn't even tell that his fourteen year old was cutting himself.

The night was spent in silence. Sammy fell asleep to some infomercial about some 80s rock music (more out of habit and Dean's pleasure than anything). He was still stretched out in the other bed and turned away from the window and towards his brother's bed. Even when they hadn't set it up, apparently Dean still got the nearest bed.

John sat at the same chair overlooking both of his sons. He left only twice to make a few calls and give out a few details. One of his contacts assured him that all the people had made it home safely and no one had mentioned them but as a few men that gave them a ride.

He watched as Sam slept soundly enough and Dean pretended to do so. He still had a hard time realizing that Dean, his soldier, his fighter, could have done that to himself. He had always been so amazed at how well the kid coped; always had figured that since he was growing up that way, it really didn't affect him.

Sammy, he had always known that they sheltered the boy too much for his own good. Sam was always worried about too many things. He was always affected by the aftermath of every hunt. Even when they had a perfect hunt and no one had gotten hurt, he still wondered and worried.

And it'd be Dean who reassured him. Dean would make everything just that less scary and sometimes he could make a game out of some of the things. Like the training; that was one big game to the boy. Understandable since he had started him off at just fix years of age with a BB gun.

But….who had reassured Dean?

The next morning came. Physically, they were now rested. Dean was the only one with actual wounds this time around. Sadly enough, this wasn't that rare. Dean tended to jump in front of his brother, and he always seemed to keep watch on his father and would pull a gun at the last second and save John from any baddie that was creeping up behind him.

But this was different.

Mentally, they were all in trouble. John was trying to recall how he could have possible have missed something so big from his eldest; questioning his entire upbringing. Sam was trying to keep from falling apart, after all he wasn't the main focus here Dean was. Maybe that had been the problem all along.

Dean kept thinking back. Back to the first time; god but twelve seems so little. When Sammy was twelve _he_ had already been driving. And it seems like Sam was twelve forever. If he'd ever done something like that, Dean knew he'd be able to handle it. He'd take matters into his hands and watch Sammy like a hawk. Sammy would never be able to hurt himself again. Dean would make sure of that. And if all else would have failed, he would have ran to his father, because at sixteen he thought that his dad could handle anything.

He should have gone to him then. Why hadn't he thought of that? Why hadn't he ever thought that maybe his dad would have known what to do, like he did with Sammy?

John stood from his seat just before seven am. He walked over and checked on Sammy, and sure enough the kid was out like a light. Then, he walked over to Dean's beside and looked him over.

Dean had been pretty pale the day before. The blood loss and then the whole having him talk about everything; it must have been too much that his body hadn't been recuperating so well. But now, he had his color back. Now it looked like he was allowing himself to be better. Maybe that talk had helped out. Maybe all he had needed, was needing, was to get those feelings out of him.

"Dad?" he heard the voice croak. Shaking his head, John looked at his still 'sleeping' eldest. "Why you staring at me?"

"Thought you were sleeping," he replied instead, taking a seat by his hip.

Dean peered through an eye and smirked.

"Would you be sleeping if someone was watching _you_?" John shrugged.

"Thought maybe the drugs," he smirked back.

"Drugs? Me? _Never_." Dean replied. John gave him a soft chuckle. Anytime that Dean would go out for a party or with a date, John would run through the quick list of things that he was not allowed to do. Dean always played it off, unfazed by the mostly empty threats because his father wouldn't be home in the morning to check on him.

"Yeah, you. But, it's alright since the doc gave it to you and all."

"Right, right," Dean said playing along. "The whole 'medication' exception. That's why we had all those pads from all them doctor's right."

John smirked again. Dean was always making him see the flaws in his double standards. The whole 'Do as I say' deal. In that way, he had made many points in regards to Sammy and most of them had kept the two from squaring off. Well, until his youngest turned sixteen. Then there wasn't rhyme or reason with him.

John wouldn't have liked anything more than to keep up with the pretenses. Pretend that they were there for just a wrapping of a few strained ribs. But pretending wouldn't help Dean, pretending was what had gotten them here.

John sighed as he passed a hand through his hair.

"How you doing?" Dean rolled his eyes. Ever since he had started talking again, his Dad or Sammy would keep him talking._ What you wanna watch? How's your head?_

"Fine, Dad."

John studied him. He had heard that same phrase his son's entire life. Now he was wondering just how much truth, if any, was behind it.

"Dad-" he said losing his gaze with the man. After his father's reply he looked up again and John could clearly see the hurt there. "I know that I've lost like all credibility and trust with you, and I'm sorry, but I _am _fine. I just hope you'll-"

John reached out and placed his hand within that spiky set of dirty blond hair. Running his fingers through it a few times, he felt himself calm slightly.

"Yeah, Dean. But you're a good kid, wild and untamed but you _are _a good kid. And I know in no time at all I'll have all my trust in you again. Especially where you've always been handy…"

"Sammy and hunting?"

"_No_," he said all too quickly. To Dean's odd expression, he began threading his fingers through his hair once more. "No more hunting."

"_What?!_" Dean asked raising his voice and fully alert now. In his bed, Sam stirred slightly, causing both elders to look over at him and then back to each other.

"Dad, there's no way that I'm -"

"-leaving hunting," his father finished with a nod. "Just till I get all of this. Until I can figure out what's going on in your head and what the hell made you do this." He's saying a lot, but he's calm. Deadly calm that Dean mainly admires but when it's directed at him it really turns his blood hot.

"No, no way, Dad. Not now." He's shaking his head robustly, there's a determined look to his hazel eyes and he's got then deadly matching his father's gaze for gaze. But John's calm and almost planned for this.

"Yes, Dean. Now. Not later, when this can all get just that much worse. When we don't get to you in time and you actually die," and he's not yelling but frankly he didin't care any more. He easily and quickly decided that he'd prefer a mad son over a dead one.

Granted, the last time that he had mad that decision, he'd lost contact with his youngest for four years.

"No, you can't do this. You can't take me out of the hunt. That's what I _do_, Dad."

"No, that's what _I _do. That's what hurt you. That's the thing that you need to get away from. I'm not saying forever, Dean." Dean looks away from him now. He's gritting his teeth and shaking his head no.

"No, just till we kill whatever got Mom and Jesse, right. Just till it really makes no difference what we do, what we hunt."

"Just until I can figure this out," stresses John. Dean's about to say something more but John stares him down sternly. "It's final Dean, and even Sam would back me on this. You're laying low until we can make sure that you're better."

"Till that spaz of a doc says I'm all "right as rain" and I see "rainbows and butterflies all around." Right? You just want me to see this damn, _shrink _over something that they'll _never_ understand and then you think that that'll help anything! Like they can help with anything, Dad. Like anyone can."

He's crying now. Silent tears rush down the side of his face. They're tears of frustration and tears of hurt. John sees them and he can honestly say that this is new for him. He's never seen his son so broken before. He's never seen him so hurt and lost. Even after Mary died, he was scared and worried and he'd cried at times but he'd never gotten to the point where he was lost beyond recognition, beyond help.

"Dean," he starts. He doesn't know what to say and it's really obvious. Dean's not listening. He's gone far off again and he's deep into himself. John's losing him and this is harder than watching Sammy leave. At least then there was the probability that he'd be okay and he and Dean had always kept nearby, watched over him.

This was a devastating solo mission. One that if fought, there was no victor.

"We can help you."

Both turned to the new voice. Sam lied just as he had just moments before, but his eyes were opened and he was watching the exchange. It looked like he had heard quite a bit and had only spoken because he knew that his father wouldn't have known what to say.

"We can, Dean. You know I'll listen to you, no matter what. You and me, there aren't two more hunting brats out there Dean. Not that I know of. And if there are, I doubt that they knew half as much as we do. Or that they've been through half of what we've been through.

"But, you see, that's where we're lucky, man. We've had each other this whole thing through."

Sam sits up now, clutching the quilt to his body. He wraps himself up in it and just stares back into Dean's tear filled eyes.

"And Dad's here too. You know that he won't leave you like this. He's done his best with us, and I think that if you let him, let _us_, we can help you. I – I know we can," Sammy adds softly. He stopped talking, wiped at his eyes and took a deep breath.

John watched with a heavy heart as the tears rushed down Dean's face as he heard his brother's heartfelt pleading. He wished it could be at another moment that they could have been having this talk; that he wouldn't have needed a hospital room to know about his son's secret demons.

How his youngest's words cut him as he realized that they were the only hunters raised to do this. That he had never really allowed them to take part in anything that wasn't hunting related or would further their survival skills.

Looking at them now, he knew he had done a lot of things wrong where they were concerned, but at the time…none of that mattered now.

"Your brother's right, son. If anyone's going to understand what you're going through, it'd be him. And I'm not hanging you out to dry either. I'm here for you now, and I'm real sorry I wasn't there for you before.

"But I want you better now. That's all that matters. It's hard, I get that now," John looked into his son's eyes and maintained connection for a few seconds before speaking again. As he watched the tears slow down. "But never again, you hear me. I hate to say it, kiddo, but now that I know it's never gonna happen again."

John chanced a quick glance with Sammy, who gave him a curt nod of encouragement and agreement, and then looked back to Dean. It hurt him when he saw a slight look of panic in those hazel eyes, but he couldn't let them rein in his decisions.

Dean watched his father as John reached over and passed his hand through the dark blond hair. He stiffened under John's hand for a moment and then relaxed, turning slightly to the touch.

"I know," he whispers.

John weaved his fingers through Dean's hair; content that Dean didn't push him away and actually seemed to welcome the comfort.

Dean turned his head slightly, still in his dad's touch and not moving as if he wanted it gone, and looked at Sammy. He gave him a tired smile, which Sam responded to with his own million-dollar grin.

"Good thing I thrive under attention, huh?" Sam coughed a laugh and nodded.

"Yeah, g-good thing," he played along.

Sam glanced over to John, who was smiling warmly and then back to Dean.

Dean nodded and leaned back into his pillow, turning into his father's touch once more. He felt all of no more that eleven years old, when he had stopped having to run to his dad after a nightmare. When he had started finding other means to handle the growing turmoil inside him.

Sighing, Dean condemned himself to this new fate. He would be under their watchful gaze and he would never again be able to cut.

Maybe, just maybe, that wouldn't be so bad.

tbc...Sooner than I have been posting! I want to say Thursday, but it may be Friday!


	18. Last

A/N: Hey!! I;m sooo excited to be back!! I've been having a hell load of problems lately trying to get into a college, but I finally got accepted into two of them and soon I'll make my decision and then FUTURE HERE I COME!!! So, i figured, what better way to celebrate than to ignore that I have to study for AP Exams (hehe) and finally write!!

So I did!

I hope someone's still out there and I'm going to try my damnest to get every story up and running again!

**Departing** **Thoughts**

**Last**

By: chocolate rules

He'd been in the same damn room with the same damn doc for three days. Three goddamn days.

Dean hated being in the same place for too long.

John had been very insistent about how he wasn't going to go anywhere without the doctor's clearance. He had of course protested, but it had fallen on deaf ears.

Then, Dean had tried his only other avenue. Little brother Sam.

But Sammy was a no go. Actually, when Dean had threatened to just take it upon himself and sneak out like he's used to do, Sammy actually threatened to tell their father. Dean had given him a 'yeah, right' look.

"Dude, I'm serious," he said. Dean turned back to look at him as he made his way into the bathroom.

"You'd _tattle_ on me? Your own brother?"

"Hell yeah," Sammy said. His tone meant that he was playful, but his eyes told Dean that he'd run to John in a heartbeat, faster if he could.

Sam sat on the foot of Dean's bed. His cot had been removed the day before but he had still remained in the room. He had stayed in the armchair, which John seemed to use the most, and as soon as the night nurse checked on Dean and checked him off in his charts he got up from it. Then, pushing Dean over in the bed he settled in besides him and slept until John had awoken him that morning.

"I still owe you from that time that you told dad about that hamster under my bed." Dean groaned and rolled his whole head.

"Dude, you were six and dad had already told you no pets."

"I was eight, thank you," said Sam trying to sound offended. "And the only reason you told was that you thought it was a rat. Then, when I refused to get it out, you ran to Dad and had him take it away."

"It was for your own good," Dean smirked pointing at him. Sam shook his head.

"Try and run, I dare ya," threatened Sam.

"Dare him to what?" asked a voice from the doorway. Both brothers turned to see their father leaning on the opened door, smirking at them knowingly.

"Daring me to sneak out," offered Dean. "I was telling him how bad that would be. You know, cause you said that I shouldn't leave before I was told to. I think he needs a talking to."

John laughed slightly as he entered the room. Sam smirked back at him. They were getting good ol' Dean back.

"Better watch it _Sam_," teased John. "cause you know I'd hate to have to go through all that trouble to chase someone down."

John ruffled Sam's hair lightly, causing Sam to shove him away, a look of annoyance on his face. He had long stopped complaining, because he hated hearing the same 'Well, if you don't like that, cut it' reply that they always gave him.

"And then, I'd haveta kill ya," John concluded. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Gonna havata catch me first," Sam smirked. Knowing he could run long distances with his longer legs.

Dean snorted. "Dude, don't even try it, you're so damn easy to catch. You'd probably trip over your own feet and break your hand in the process."

It was John's turn to snort as Sam shoved at his brother and Dean, laughing, headed into the bathroom.

"Leave it open," John told him as Dean started to close the door. Even though he'd been saying the same thing for the last two nights, Dean still fought it.

"I know you might find it hard to believe, but I _am _in fact potty trained," smirked Dean before closing the door behind him.

John watched as Dean slammed the door shut and dragged a hand over his face,

"If I hold him down," Sam started with a wide grin. John turned to him and listened to the boy's jokefilled threat. "I'll look away as you really tear it into him. Huh?"

"Sure, kiddo." John smiled back. "Good luck with that."

Dean spent all of the third night annoying his father into trying to let him leave with an AMA. John wasn't a real patient man, and he really hated it when he was questioned, so he did the only thing that he could think about: made it all into one big joke.

And when that started to wear off, he threatened to start telling the nursing staff a little more than what they needed to know about him; the kind of embarrassing things that only his father would know – and should ever be the one to know.

Sam spent the afternoon out testing out the library for some nearby hunt. While he was there, he learned a lot more about self-harm and about how to help cutters. Most importantly, he learned that there was no such thing as an end to it. They could only stop the physical harm, but the emotional damage would forever leave scars.

He knew that he'd be there for his brother, always, but he also wondered how they would be able to make certain that it'd end when Dean had had years of learning how to cover it up.

So Sam looked that up too.

The next day tried on Dean's nerves even more. That damn doctor didn't seem to give up and kept bugging him on every stinking thing. If he was dying, then he'd be the first to call him in – otherwise what the hell did he want so much?

But that was just Dean being pissed, and no one was really listening to him anyway.

Which just made everything really, really suck.

After the doc had left him that morning, Dean was lying around, watching crappy daytime TV and then was gonna watch the cooking channel because at least _someone_ around there would know what "real food" tasted and looked like.

The steady firm motions of the carving knife were like a trance for him. Suddenly, it was no longer that simple. Suddenly, the chicken was gone and in its place was his arm.

Dean stared at the screen, watching as the chef sliced through Dean's left arm.

"- the fuck?"

Dean made a quick grab for the remote and switched the channel.

That had never. Not once, happened to him before. He'd ever _seen_ his arm get sliced up. Never even thought about it like that. It was a relief, an internal struggle seeping out..

That, on the screen, that had been plain old butchery.

"No way man," Dean groaned as he flipped through another commercial of some sappy soap that never seems like it wants to end. _End already, damn it._

Further down in the line that was daytime lineup, Dean kept seeing blood or knives and other sharp instruments and him besides them.

"Well this is just fucking crazy," he muttered shutting off the device and closing his eyes, refusing to admit to what he had seen.

However, instead of finding peace or calmness in his mind, Dean found himself face to face with his greatest turmoil. He hated the idea that it had gotten so bad internally for him, that it was beginning to manifest before him.

This was bad, real bad.

Glancing down at his watch, Dean noticed that his father and brother had at least an hour to go before they would arrive back at the hospital. They had left on Dean and the doctor's insistence that they get some decent food and a shower. Having had no intent to cause himself any harm, and likewise the doc's insistence that they would keep their eyes on him, John and Sam slowly left the room, promising to be back within two hours.

But right now, that seemed like a really good idea.

Dean stood by the bathroom door, daring himself to enter. If he could just enter, find a razor or something, that had never really been a problem, then he would be able to relieve the pain and all this new baggage. Then he would be able to do as the doctors and his family kept insisting he did and get over this stage in his life. Just one line, a drop of blood really.

No one would ever even have to know.

_No one _would_ have to know, _Dean thought. Nodding to himself, he took a tentive step forward and into the bathroom. The rest, as they say, is history…

Sam entered the room and instantly noticed that Dean wasn't in the bed. He looked over to the bathroom door and noticed that it was closed. Not wanting to think to heavily on whatever was going on in there; he instead set the take-out bag on the bedside table and then went to alert his brother that they were back.

"Hey, Dean, we're back! I got you some real food here man."

Sam stood by the closed door of the bathroom and waited for a response from inside.

He heard none.

"Dean? You alright in there?"

Again, he waited a second for a reply, but found none.

Just as he was about to call out again, this time mainly in panic, the room door opened and in came in John.

"Where's Dean?"

"In the bathroom, but he won't answer."

John gave him an odd look. He placed Dean's duffle on the bed and then stepped over to the bathroom door.

"Dean, open the door," John said pounded on the door. He tried the doorknob and wasn't surprised to find that it was locked.

"Damnit Dean, I thought I told you to quit locking the damn door," he muttered and shook his head.

"Dad," Sam strained as he looked at the locked door besides him. "Can't you just pick it? I mean seriously, that's like what we _do_."

Sighing, John nodded. He turned back and looked around the room until he found something that would help him pick the lock. He moved back to the door and then called out a final warning before he proceeded to unlock the door.

Once it was unlocked, Sam opened the door and stepped inside hoping against everything that he wouldn't find what he thought he would find. But what he did find made him sick to his stomach.

Lying by the sink, Dean held out his wrist. He had figured that no matter where he cut, he'd be discovered. They were really pissy around there about checkups and such. So, in order to indulge more in the missed pleasure and worry less about the physical appearance that he had been showcasing Dean had used his wrist.

He leaned his head against the coolness of the sink and then watched as the blood sipped slowly out of the thin line he had made. He had sat there for twenty minutes, just watching the blood seep out and cutting the line again if it began to clot up. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of the door opening and his little brother entering the room.

Looking around, Dean found a towel and wrapped it around his arm. He cleaned up any residue of the blood around him. The sight of him there and the cut wrist line would be enough that his brother wouldn't need the visual again of him surrounded by blood.

_Hey, Dean, we're back! I got you some real food here man._

Dean looked back to the door. He could hear Sam's knock and words. He wasn't finished cleaning up yet, and there was no way that he could let him into the bathroom if it still looked like this.

He heard Sam call out again, a little more worried this time and he tried to think of something to say that would calm his brother and et him finish cleaning up before-

_Where's Dean?_

_In the bathroom, but he won't answer._

Oh, shit, there was Dad. He did _not_ need his father to come in right now. Finishing up with the blood, Dean made use of the cleaning supplies under the sink, which lock he had picked to find something to use to cut himself, and he made sure that the room no longer stank of blood.

Resented to his approaching doom, Dean settled besides the sink. He clasped the towel tightly around his wrist, willing it to clot now. Taking a deep breath, he heard his father work the lock, saw the lock turn on the door and then, it was opened.

tbc... next chapter : _Promise_

Side note: Who else is freakign out over the finale??? I know I am!!!

And last week's eisode, I think we can all agree that it was really cute to see Dean happy, even if it was fake. I mean, that Christmas piture, lol. And Dean mowing the lawn, wow! Gotta love the boy! Such enthusiasm!

Happy Monday!!


	19. Promise

**A/N: HELLO!! So glad to finally have the chance to update! I really love this story and hope that those of you that do as well are still reading this! Senior Year's being a big meanie, but I'm shoving through and actually hope to complete all of my stories before graduation. So, here's to an eventful month... **

**A/N2: Thanks for all the reviews you guys, sorry I won't be able to reply individually but I figure, you prefer me to write :D**

**Departing** **Thoughts**

**Promise**

By: chocolate rules

John couldn't believe his eyes.

There, besides the small hospital sink, holding once white towel to his bleeding wrists, laid his son.

_Dean_.

His first born had hurt himself again. And John had thought that they were starting to break through to him.

"De-Dean?" a small voice said from behind him.

John could feel a small shiver pass through his youngest.

_Sam_.

God, how much did Sammy have to see in his young life?

Dean refused to look up from his wrist. He was pretending that he couldn't hear them, John could tell.

At the sound of Sam's distress, Dean's entire physique had changed. His shoulder's straightened and his hand tightened, causing more blood to pour out.

Not a pleasant reaction.

Before Sam could say something else or make any moves towards his brother, John got him back into the hospital room and closed the door.

Rushing over to Dean's side, John pried Dean's resisting fingers from the towel and took the newly injured wrist in hand.

"Oh God, Dean," John muttered as he carefully began to clean the cut. "What are you trying to do, son?"

Dean avoids his glance. He's looking down at his father's work and then glances down to the floor.

John looks the room over. He knows that the staff had gone through the room to ensure that there weren't anything that could be used to cause his son harm. However, he also knows that he taught both boys to improvise. And surely, that's what Dean did.

Shaking his head, holding back angry and fearful tears that were willing to betray his visage, John Winchester hauled his son to his feet and guided him back into his room-

- where Sam and he hospital staff where already waiting for him.

* * *

Dean was settled into his bed and a nurse quickly assessed the damage before bandaging his wrist. As she turned to leave, Dean noticed a sad smile on her face. 

Nurse Sara.

She had been really nice to him, but he was sure that he'd never see her again.

Not that he could blame her.

The second the door shut behind her, Dean had an earful of both his father and Dr. Grey.

Dean turns away from them and closes his eyes, fully intent on going to sleep. They're not saying anything new. He already tried not cutting, he really did.

Maybe he's just meant to end it all. For their sake.

* * *

John Winchester hates to be ignored. He really hates repeating himself. And one of his greatest pet peeves is when his twenty-six year old son acts like a spoiled brat. 

As soon as Dean turned away from them, John walked over and grabbed Dean's chin, forcing him to look back at them.

He's not to sure what he said next, but Dean's pushing his hand away and Sammy's just slumped down on a chair, where he's been since they left the bathroom.

Dr. Grey grabbed John's shoulders and pulled him away from Dean. That slight separation makes John take note of the tears fighting to stay in on his son's face.

"Mr. Wilder, please calm down. This isn't helping anyone."

John turned himself around and looked at Dr. Grey coldly. _Wasn't helping_, he thought. _This whole damn situation wasn't helping. The goddamn hospital wasn't helping!_

Clenching his jaw, John walked away from the doctor and over to the window, where Sam was leaning back in his chair.

Nurse Sara had done a good job at cleaning the wrist and stitching it back together. Dean was picking at the wrapping on his wrist and it made John see red. Why would he do this again? As far as John could tell, everything was getting better for Dean.

But apparently he had been wrong.

He's talking to Dean now, Dr. Grey. But, John doubts that any of them caught one word.

He can't believe what he just witnesses. What his son had just done.

And the sinking feeling in his stomach; the one that always gave away when they should drop a hunt and take the quickest route back to the car; the one that had him ushering his sons time and time again from the harsher realities and dangers, even in their own crazy world; that feeling was back and it was warning him that he might just have lost his son. Both his sons.

They might just as well hit back to square one.

* * *

The doctor had left them alone some two hours ago. They had yet to say one word to each other. 

Sam had managed to pull himself out of his seat a few seconds ago when the call of nature refused to be further ignored.

The 'click' of the door closing behind him resounded through the room and each Winchester.

Dean sighed.

Shifting to his side, away from the bathroom door and where their father was perched by the window. He hated sensing their feelings towards him. Especially when they had thought that he had been doing so well.

He himself had thought that he had been doing well.

But wasn't that always the case with him before.

He had always thought that if it came to _this_, his father and Sammy finding out and even dragging him to a hospital or treatment, that he'd be able to stop it.

He had thought himself stronger than this.

At the moment, he didn't want them around anymore. He couldn't believe that after so much, that he had failed his family, and himself.

His mother must hate him right now.

Dean groaned.

_God, Mom,_ thought Dean. _You must be pretty damn pissed at me right now. All I'm making Dad and Sammy go through. Like we all haven't been through enough already!_

And as if Dean couldn't hate himself for his weakness as it was, the thoughts about his mother just brought him even further down.

Man, today couldn't of had sucked more ass!!!!

Of all the days to do something stupid –

"Dean?"

Dean felt his body tensed. He hadn't expected his father to speak. He had actually thought that since Sam had left the room, even if it was just to go to the bathroom, that John would take that as an opportunity to leave his room.

He just couldn't imagine his father being able to face him right now.

Not that he blamed the man.

Thank god that there were no mirrors around him.

But, God! He must look like shit!

"Son, please?"

Could his father really _care_ enough to want to fix this, when he's so obviously broken?

"God, Dean! Cut it out already!"

Dean heard his father push away from the wall that he had been leaning on.

Probably wanted to pace around. Clear his head.

Dean sure wanted to.

"I thought that we'd gotten past this shit already once, son. Cut the silence crap, I mean it."

Dean wanted to turn around. His father sounded…sounded…_desperate_?

He could hear the man begin to pace. To the window, pass the food tray that had been delivered a mere half hour earlier, to the couch there, to the bathroom door and then flipped back again and headed to the window.

Noise sounded from the bathroom again.

John stopped.

"Stop trying to cower into yourself. Stop trying to hide. You can't. What's done is done, Dean. You can't take it back, you just can't.

"You're not a quitter, son. Never have been. Don't start acting like one now. Not when we need you so badly to fight this."

John was whispering by the time he finished talking.

Dean figured that he'd soon be seeing the advancing figure of his father darting for the door.

For certain, after a speech like that –

Sam came out of the bathroom and headed back to his seat. Dean was certain that the boy would continue to sulk. Brooding seemed to be his favorite past time as of recently.

Had he turned around, faced his brother's arrival, he would have seen the determined look on the younger man's face.

John saw it. He was certain that his son had heard everything that had happened since he'd gotten into the bathroom.

Well, at least it had helped _one_ son.

* * *

Sam glared at the back of his brother's figure. He had heard ever word his father had said and had thought about their meaning. 

Granted, he had only thought about it for a few minutes, but it wasn't like their meaning wasn't clearly stated.

No matter how rare it was for John Winchester to praise or show affection for his sons, it had always been genuine. Always.

And it hurt Sam that Dean seemed to not notice that at the moment.

It hurt even more that he knew that Dean was hurting, and he was really at a lost on how to help his brother.

But never one to give up –

"Dean?" Sam said softly as he took a step to Dean's bed and watched the older boy for a response.

None came.

"Dean, please. Talk to me, bro. You know I can't stand to see you like this, man."

Still nothing.

"Dean, we're begging you, please?"

Sam didn't know whether to get mad or start crying. He wasn't sure which one would get a response from his big brother, but he was pretty willing to pull both if need be.

"Son, help us get you through this," John said as he went back to the window.

Sam watched as John rubbed his hands over his face. He was certain that it was out of frustration, but the look on his father's eyes was full of concern and worry.

And Sam could take it anymore.

"Goddamnit Dean! Say something!"

A deep sigh. That was Dean's response.

Having had enough of staring of the back of his brother's head, and seeing how both his and their father's words weren't helping anything move along, Sam reached out and grabbed onto Dean's shoulder and shoved until he had Dean flat on his back.

Dean was now forced to look up to him and Sam was going to make sure that his brother saw just how freaking pissed and concerned he had made him.

"Dean, you're freaking me out, aright? It's got to stop! What happened this time? No one was mad at you, no one was fighting, so what was it? You were almost out of here, dude! You were doing so well! No, don't turn away," Sam said as he reached over to grab Dean's chin to retain his focus.

"I can't help you – _we_ can't help ya man, if you don't tell us how. I need you around, dude. And when you do this, it hurts okay? So stop." Sighing, Sam released Dean's face but continued to look at him. "Talk to me."

* * *

Dean tenses slightly as he listened to his brother plead out to him. He's looking into Sam's face and he can't help but feel horribly. 

Sam said that no one was mad at him, but he's wrong.

_He's_ mad at _himself_.

And in that lies the problem.

There was no real problem.

Dean had stopped cutting for some years. Sure, he had thought about it a lot, especially after Sam had left and he was alone with John. However, as the time if John's words didn't help him, then a trip over to Stanford would usually get the job done.

Seeing Sammy happy and safe always brought to light for Dean why he did the things that he did.

And if not _directly_ for his Sammy, then it was for all the 'Sammy's' out there.

He couldn't help but think back to Michael and Asher. What that little guy did for his little brother. What Dean knew he'd do for Sam.

For all the little brothers and smart kids out there and all the big brothers that have to take care of them.

So that one more kid could keep his innocence.

That's why he hunts. That's why he hurt so badly each time.

Because there was no one out there to take that blunt for him.

So, he'd do it for himself. Help ease the pain any way that he could.

Help him to breathe a little better in the morning.

But this time had just been _want_, no real _need_ was involved.

He really did want out of there, bad.

And he had hurt Sammy, again. Had put that look in his father's eyes, and that tone in his voice.

And for what?

Damn, he felt like crap….

…but he didn't want to cut himself free of it.

This hurt still kept him human.

"I'm sorry-" he started, but Sam's shaking his head.

"I don't want you to be sorry, Dean. Neither does Dad. We just need to know why."

Dean looked over to his father. That concern look is still there, but the desperation is edging away. He's even perked up at Dean's words, but John's decided not to make too much of it. Rather not scare the boy shut again or something.

Dean shrugged. He wanted to help them, even if it meant that that meant them helping him. He just didn't know.

"Why are you shrugging?! What is it?! Give us something, hear, bro"

Sam grabbed for his hand as he sat down besides his brother. He can tell that the younger man is trying to comfort him, but he's not sure if he's helping or not.

It's not making him feel _worse_, that's a start.

"I, I dunno," he started. He looked at their hands and then over to his father before staring up to the ceiling.

It was much easier to confess this way. The ceiling won't cave down on him to her the truth.

He sure hopes not anyway.

"Don't know what, Dean?"

This time it's John. His father pushed off the window and walked over to the bed. Dean watched as his Dad stood besides Sammy, giving them both the support of his presence.

Aiding his fractured family as best as he can at the moment, before he knows how to make it better.

"Don't know why, Dad. I just don't know."

"In general or today?"

Dean bit his lower lip. That was a good question. Before it had been about guilt and release.

A comfort.

What was it now?

"Release, before," whispered Dean.

John can see the look of concentration on his first born. He knows that the boy's trying and he's thankful for that.

For the chance to maybe save them from this again.

"And now?" pressed Sam.

"Honestly don't know."

They sat in silence for a few minutes after that. John made his way to the other side of the bed and sat down besides him. Offering his presence once again.

Looking up, Dean studied his father's face for a moment. He tried to do as he had as a child and assess how much trouble he was in just by the look on his father's face.

He wasn't very good at it at the moment. John seemed to calm for comfort.

* * *

John spent the next few minutes thinking about the few words that they had managed out of Dean. 

He wanted to help his sons; both of them, but Dean needed him more.

"Seems to me that you just wanted to see if you could still do it, son."

Both boys twisted over to look at him as the words slipped into the silent room.

"Dad?" questioned Sam.

He looked up to his youngest, hoped that he could convey some sense of comfort and trust.

"To see if maybe we care enough to notice now. Enough to _stop_ you, maybe?"

Dean stared hard at him. He hadn't thought about it like that. It had only been an override of emotion and wanton.

"You, you think that he's just testing us?" Sam asked slightly horrified.

John let a sad smile cross his lips.

"That's the best that I can figure it, Sammy."

Looking over at his eldest, he can see the child thinking and hopes that maybe he'll get a response.

Two minutes later and he's still waiting on one.

"Dean?"

Dean's gaze focuses over to him.

"Son, anything that you think about that?"

Dean opened his mouth as if to say something and then closed it.

"Dean? Are you trying to see how serious we are about helping you, son? About _stopping_ you, so that you don't hurt yourself anymore? Because that the only thing that I can still come up with right now. Only logical thing.

"Do you think what you did had some kind of logic to it, Dean?"

Small shrug, more of a yes than a no really.

"Speak son, you never were one to keep too quiet." Even though he's not the son that speaks his emotions, Dean has never been shy with him.

They wait another minute for something from Dean. John's not used to the silence, its very rare for Winchesters.

Stillness and silence.

An eerie combination to say the least.

Just when he was about to get back up, maybe heading for some coffee or something, he hears a sniffle.

He looked up to Dean's face and could see some tears streaking down the boy's face. They held a steady stream, though silent. Dean couldn't seem to get a control on them.

He wondered what it was that broke his son.

"God, that's just so stupid that I think you might have something there, Dad."

Dean shook his head, obviously distraught that his actions could be so corny.

But they weren't in the least.

"Good," John replied, once again surprising his sons.

"Seriously Dad?" questioned Sam softly, voice laced with his own tears. "What's up with you now?"

"The way that I see it," John started again. This time he really grinned, hoping to give them all some hope beyond all this grim. "If Dean needs some attention, then that I can do."

"Yeah?" Sam replied half heartedly.

Dean groaned. There was some normalcy in that. A quiet Dean was something to worry about. An annoyed one was just entertaining, easily sidetracked.

"If that's what he needs, think you can pitch in, Sammy?" Sammy's nodding like a bobble head, looking all of six years old again.

"How much attention?" asked Dean tentatively.

John couldn't help himself as he reached over and ruffled the sandy blond hair. Wiping away the now forgotten tears, he grabbed the boy's face and established eye contact before talking again.

"Promise."

* * *

Tbc... next chapter: _Recovery _


	20. Recovery

**A/N: Sorry for the HUGE hiatus, but my summer has finally begunand though I might have to start college in a week, I'm going to try and pound out the ending to this story, one of my favorites! Thanks for all of those still reading!! Your ROCK!**

****

**Departing** **Thoughts**

_He didn't want to go, but Sammy kept insistin, and his father was still around so if he tried anything he knew the man would make him go anyhow..._

**Recovery**

By: chocolate rules

_Maybe that shrink lady that Dr. Grey mentioned wouldn't be too bad. _

Dean kept thinking that to himself as he rode in the passenger seat of his father's truck.

One thing was for sure, he didn't want to go. He had been let out of the hospital in the condition that he starts up regular sessions with a shrink. He had been hard pressed to say hell no, but his father had spoken before him and had made it clear that he would attend.

Dean had figured that after they got out of the confines of the sterile environment, that they'd hi-tail it the hell out of Dodge.

But that hadn't been the case.

Apparently, in his week or so stay at the hospital, his father and brother had put in for an apartment. For a month. Minimum.

He had nearly passed out from shock.

It had been almost a month from his whole incident, three weeks since he had left the hospital, two weeks since his father had been on a hunt and four days since Sammy had stopped giving him that 'look'. He thought that for sure they had forgotten about the whole thing.

Then, that morning at breakfast John stepped out of the shower as Dean was beginning breakfast.

"Good morning, Dad," Dean said as he flipped some pancakes and drained some bacon strips (Sammy feared "all that grease").

"Morning Dean."

John walked over to the fridge and got himself a glass of juice.

Dean stilled from the pancakes. Juice? John Winchester didn't do _juice_ in the morning.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"You, um, you want some _coffee_?" Dean asked, unsure if his father even noticed that he had completely walked by a fresh pot of his favorite beverage.

John looked down at the drink in his hand, now half empty. He gave it a small smile, clearly not even noticing that he was drinking it.

"Yeah I think I'll grab a mug."

Downing the rest of the juice, he grabbed a mug and poured himself some coffee.

Clearly, something was wrong.

"Dad? What is it?"

John sighed deeply and took a long drain of the dark drink.

"Better get ready for the day, son," John said sternly. "Your appointment for the therapist is today and it's about an hour's drive out there."

Dean looked at his father wide eyed.

"Therapist? Appointment? Dad! What the hell!"

"Don't sound surprised, Dean. You heard me very clearly tell the doc that I would personally see that you'd go to that therapist. I'm a man of my word, son. You know that."

"This is bullshit, Dad, and you know it!"

Dean gripped the spatula tighter in his hand. He restrained himself from tossing it at his father, seeing as how he really didn't see himself beating the boy at ability or strength even after all these years.

John's face turned hard. He didn't want to take his son to talk to anyone. For one, he knew that the boy wouldn't really be able to talk "freely", like he'd be instructed to do. Another thing was that this would be like a dent on his internal armor; both his own and Dean's.

Winchester men didn't claim defeat. But, John knew that he was not equipped to deal with what Dean would need to overcome his destructive habit. Dean needed someone better, someone experienced. John knew that Dean wasn't like any other person that this lady had seen, but she knew about the whole cutting mindset and that's where he needed the help the most.

Because, clearly John had already failed at that.

"Dean, this _isn't _bullshit, as you so put it! This is about your health! About keeping you alive! We're not discussing this, you're going. That's that."

Dean scoffed.

"I'm not TEN, Dad. If I say I'm not going, then I'm not going. You really can't tell me to go!"

John was about to toss back how he damn well could tell him to go, and tie him into his seat too if the need arose. However, the yelling had awoken Sam and the youngest Winchester made his way into the kitchen in time to hear his brother's rant.

The look on his face stated just what Sam thought about those words even before he yelled them to the back of his brother's head.

"OH! That's rich, Dean! Really rich! So all this talk about you wanting better and letting us help you was a load of shit, right?"

Dean turned around and found himself face to face with a very angry and teary-eyed Sam.

"What?" scoffed Sam. "The second that we turn away you were going to drive off and then try you stab at death again?"

Sam stressed the word "stab" and Dean looked down as he heard him say it.

Death. Was that what he had wanted all along?

"I don't want to _die_, Sammy," Dean said softly.

Looking up, Dean saw Sam wrap his arms around himself, seeking comfort from the nearest thing to him, himself.

Dean felt so far away.

He wanted to make it all right again. He wished that he could just walk over to his brother and wrap his own arms around the young one. He wanted to make Sammy feel safe again.

But it was John who moved towards Sammy. And it was John's words and voice that stopped the boys from tears. It was John who Sam nodded his "okay" before he was ushered into the bathroom to clean up.

Dean groaned.

John turned back to face him. His face was stern and determined, but he approached slowly as if to a frightened animal ready to pounce.

Dean was frightened. Dean was out of his element. They all were. But, it was Dean that had to put force the effort to want to change. That was something that not even John could order from him.

"Dean-" John started.

"It's just an hour right?"

"Huh?" John stilled, not certain when the topics had changed and to what.

"This shrink lady. It's just for an hour right?"

John eyed his son critically, trying to sense if the boy was being sincere.

"Yeah, you'd just have to be with her for an hour. Today, though. It's more that just a one time thing. You understand that, right? That there's no over night cure for this?"

John approached slowly again. By the time that he finished talking, he was besides Dean with a hand gripped tightly around the boy's nape.

Dean nodded, looking straight into John's eyes. He hated the idea and hated every aspect of talking about himself and his feelings with every fiber of his being.

But Sammy was hurting and his father was torn. And Dean couldn't be the cause of that. Not like this. Not because of _that_.

So, it ended that all for all remedy wasn't helpful anymore.

Dean could feel the pull at this very moment. He wanted nothing more right now than to shove his father aside and dashed down the hall into the bathroom in John's room.

He wanted nothing more right now that to feel the cool line of a blade, the pain of the cut, and the drain of the blood loss.

He wanted to be whole again.

* * *

Pushing John's arms aside, Dean dove into the comfort of his father's strength. He wrapped his arm tightly around his waist and dropped his head onto the stronger, broad shoulder. 

His Dad's arms came around him, surprised at first but then tighter. He was holding onto him for dear life, providing the safety and reassurance that his son was seeking.

"It's alright, son. I promise you, everything's going to work out. We're not going to stop until you're better again."

Dean sniffled. He buried the wetness of his shame into John's neck.

"I haven't been alright in a long time, sir."

John gripped him harder still. Now, he was seeking the reassurance himself. He needed to know that he hadn't truly failed the boy. He had to feel him and know that there was still a chance.

He could still safe his little boy.

"No, you haven't. But that's all over now. Don't you worry about a thing, babe. I've got you."

And Dean let the tears fall.

* * *

He sat in the truck, listening to Dad and Sammy talking back and forth about something. Maybe a new hunt, maybe even about him. It didn't matter, he wasn't listening anyways. 

Dean was staring out the window, watching as the scenery passed by.

He didn't want to be there.

Anywhere else was better than right here.

But the truth was, there really wasn't anywhere for him to go at the moment. Not that he'd be able to get away anyway.

Not with Sam over his shoulder and John driving just besides him.

This truck was leading him straight for his death. Or his torture as it may be.

How was _this_ supposed to save him? What did this lady know that would hold the great secret as to what it was that he had to do or think or say that would make the ache leave him?

Cope.

That's what she'd tell him. Dean needed to learn to cope.

Or to cope better as the case maybe.

"It's not going to be that bad, Dean."

Sam's words had startled him, And Dean had slightly jumped in his seat.

"I know," he tried to say, as if he really couldn't care less and he had far better things to do.

"If it helps some, I checked her out," Sam continued. Clearly, Dean wasn't convincing enough, not even to his kid brother.

Sammy checked her out? He wondered…

"So?"

"So what?"

Wow, the kid was vague.

"Whatcha find out?" Dean asked, happy to not have to think about where he was heading and also to have some dirt on his therapist before he'd get to met her. Level the playing field a little.

"Oh! Um, not much. Few parking tickets, brother's in rehab. Parents are pharmacists or something. Her cat just died."

"Sounds like she needs therapy."

John scoffed at the muttered reply.

"What _she_ needs don't matter, son. We're going there for what _you_ need. And she seemed perfectly okay when I spoke with her over the phone."

Dean twisted in his seat to glance his father over.

"You _talked _with her? What for?"

"I'm not about to just let you go talking to just anyone, Dean!" replied John as he glanced over to his son, giving him a stern look. "I told Sammy to look into her and check her references and history and yeah we spoke a few times.

"It's like this," John said turning into a parking lot. "You don't do the talking thing too well, Dean. Its no surprise that this thing had gone as far as it did. I wanted to see if I could trust her _before_ making you go to her. Why do you think it's been a month?"

Dean twisted back and looked out the window again as his father parked.

"Come on then, we're here."

* * *

Dean sat slouched down on the couch. He was staring at the ceiling design on the ceiling. It looked like horse shit. 

"Dean?"

Rolling his eyes, Dean looked down at the lady in front of him.

Doctor Amanda Weiner was sitting very professionally in her comfy seat. Her light brown hair was pinned up in a bun and her velvet blue eyes were slightly hidden behind her dark brimmed glasses.

She reminded Dean of some stereotype Librarian.

"Yes…ma'am?"

When the 'good doctor' had introduced herself, it had taken all of Dean's self-control to not bust out laughing.

If he ever said her name, he'd be done for.

"Could you tell me what's bothering you? What's on your mind?"

Dean had been in this dingy office for almost half an hour now. He had yet to really say anything. Not anything useful anyways.

"Nothing much. Just," Dean shrugged. "You know. Stuff."

Dean could see the right fist tighten around the pen it held. He wondered if the old woman would pop if he provoked her.

She wasn't _old_ old. But, Dean was pretty certain that she was at least older than his father. And John was old.

Thinking about his father made him remember that he had promised not to provoke her.

Dean sighed. Though this wasn't his first visit to a therapist, he had had quite a youth that was for sure, this was the first that his father had instructed him to be as truthful as possible.

No mention of hunting. No ghosts or demons or anything scary.

Which, really, just left Dean with _nothing_.

"Son, I cant help you, if you refuse to talk!"

"Getting a bit edgy there, doc! Can't help me if you can't be patient."

Dean wasn't sure, but he thought that he heard her growl at him.

Taking a deep breath, Dr. Weiner tried a different approach.

"Dean? You have a brother, yes?"

Dean gave her a skeptical look, but nodded. It was never good when someone mentioned Sam to him before he did. And Dean was almost always willing to talk about Sam.

"Sam, yes? Younger?"

Again, Dean nodded.

"Well, how would you feel if we talk about him?"

"What about Sam?"

"Well, that's for you to decide!" she offered, as if obvious, in a cheery voice.

"I like my brother, what more do you need to know?"

"Well, you're the older brother, yes? I'm sure you have plenty of memories of him. Maybe your first one? Shall we start there?"

Dean didn't want to talk about Sammy. He didn't want to remember, especially about back then.

For another ten minutes, Dean sat silently. Dr. Weiner tried to ask questions about Sam, what they did together, what kind of things Sam liked, that sort of thing. But Dean remained silent.

* * *

Sam paced outside of the office that Dean had been taken into. John watched him, shaking his head occasionally. 

"Sammy, sit down," sighed John after half an hour of watching the nerves wreck of his youngest. As if the boy was expecting a baby.

Sam stilled and looked over to his father.

"I want to know what they're talking about."

John rolled his eyes. Of course Sammy wanted to know what they were talking about. The kid was as curious as they come.

"It's none of your business, Sammy. Once your brother's time is up, you can ask him. And if he wants to tell you, then he can tell you. Nothing to do about it til then. Now, sit down."

Sam opened his mouth to say something else, but John sent him a stern look and he shuffled his way into the seat besides his father.

John flipped the page in his newspaper as Sammy began to bit at his fingernails.

John ignored the biting, and the twitching knee that followed a minute later.

He drew a line at the Latin incantations however.

"Samuel," growled John, mindful of the secretary and the other person waiting.

Sam stilled instantly and turned innocent eyes to his father.

"Cut the crap. Grab a magazine or something."

Sam grabbed at the nearest magazine, huffingly pretending to read it. Until he realized that he was reading _Woman's Journal_. Tossing the magazine back to the pile on the coffee table in the middle of the room, Sam brought his feet up to rest on the table.

John sent the boy a look, but his son failed to see it as he was concentration on his fingernails again. He reached over and plucked the fingers away from Sam's mouth. Then, he proceeded to place them on Sam's lap, giving the wrist a tight squeeze in warning.

The other person waiting went up to the secretaries' desk and asked to use the bathroom. The secretary stood and went to show him where they were.

John waited until the footsteps sounded a little further away. Then, he reached over again and smacked at Sam's thigh.

"Ow! Dad!"

"Put your feet down and start acting your age. Unless you want to start regressing then I think I can schedule that in."

Sam took the threat for what it was and straightened up.

"I just can't stop thinking."

"You don't try hard enough," replied John turning back to his newspaper. He thought that he might have a lead on a hunt and would maybe leave that weekend to check it out. Sam and Dean would have to manage it alone.

He could trust them.

They were pretty good boys. They just turned into little brats every time that he was around. He'd make them too comfortable, he'd need them back on their feet soon.

But, Dean's recovery was the most important thing at the moment.

John had to rebuild his family. He had to take back what had occurred and promise to protect them over everything. Even themselves and especially each other. Those two fought like cats and dogs.

"Dad?"

John twisted back over to look at Sammy. Who was once again biting at his nails. He'd end up with none soon.

Reaching over again for the digits, John replied.

"What is it Sammy?"

"Hasn't it been an hour yet?"

Before John could answer, the office door pulled open.

Dean stepped out of the office, closely followed by the doc. She didn't look pleased.

"Well, then I guess I'll be seeing you next Tuesday Mr. Wilder, yes?"

Dean scoffed. A _hell NO!_ was at the tip of his tongue.

John stood up and walked over besides his eldest.

"Yes, Doctor. As I assured you, we'll be coming to at least eight more sessions before we head back home."

The 'good doctor' nodded.

"Yes, that's best. See to it that you find a quality therapist nearby now so that I can send over the files as soon as we're complete."

"quality," scoffed Dean.

"Will do, ma'am," John replied. He heard the ridicule in his boy's tone, but now wasn't the time to discuss what had happened yet.

Nodding a farewell, John lead his sons back to the truck and peeled out as Sam began his parade of questions.

* * *

The next two days seemed easier for the Winchester men. 

John started research on what he was now certain was an actual case. It was about a twenty minute drive from where they were staying, so he didn't need to worry about the boys. Not that he _wouldn't_, just that he didn't actually need to.

Sam was more or less Dean's shadow again, regressing as John had foreseen to his younger years. He watched his brother like a little hawk. If he didn't know what or why Dan was doing something, he would inquire. If he didn't like the answer, then he made it damn near impossible for Dean to continue to carry on as he was.

For his part, Dean hadn't drawn into himself again after his therapy session. John had feared that even though he and Sam had forced him into it with good intention, it would backfire on them. He had been gladly mistaken.

Dean had however refused to answer Sammy's questions about what had happened with the doctor. Having said through most of the car ride about 'patient/doctor confidentiality' Sam had given up his quest of r that night. The next day however, Dan had started to say that he had refused to say anything.

Thinking that it was just another diversion, Sam had continued to pester. When it proved that Dean had in fact not made much progress, John had been mad and had drilled him and made the boy promise that the next time he would take it seriously.

What the boys didn't know was that John was already looking into finding his old friend, Harvey Jefferson a damn good doctor he had met in his younger days and that had helped introduce him into the hunting community. John was certain that if Jefferson couldn't help them himself, he would know someone that could.

But, until then, the Winchester men still had each other.

* * *

tbc...Next chapter..._Repaired_

3 Chapters to go:D So, how's everyone's summer? Anyone else suffering fomr Supernatural withdrawal? LoL. Plz, toss me a line and review! Have A great Summer!


	21. Repaired

A/N: My entire reason for writing this fic was to cope with the reality of SI, or self-injury. I've been doing a lot of research (yes, even more) on this topic and I found a lot of helpful things that made me write this fic out faster. My biggest motivation however were some pretty graphic drawings from some real SI people posted on a site. It was such an insight into the mindset that I felt like I was experiencing some things with them. As I think I said in the earlier chapters, I myself haven't gotten to that stage quite yet. I hope I never need the release. But, I have thought about it and a great deal of my friends have gone through it. It's easier to stop before you've started. Trust me...

A/N2: Well, there was little to no proof reading on this chapter. It was purely inspiration and two or three hours of research. Then a good four or five just writing this. I even skipped lunch!

ANYWAYS, read and enjoy,

**Departing** **Thoughts**

_He knows that he can't be everything to everyone, so could you all please stop asking..._

**Repaired **

By: chocolate rules

It was his sixth visit with Doc Weiner, and Dean was no longer finding her name as amusing.

Just the thought of it and his head began to hurt.

Dad told him to stop whining and Sammy said it was all in his head.

"Well _duh_, Sammy. It's my head that hurts!"

Sam rolled his eyes.

"I got that, dumbass. What I meant was that it's fake. You're head hurt because you want it to. It's psychological."

Dean looked across the table, over the piles of research and notebooks, at his brother. Who had a smirk on his face, but refused to look up from his book.

"Well, then she's hypnotizing me so that every time I hear her name or think of her, my head starts to crumble in."

"Maybe it's the whole process of you actually using your head to think," Sam fired back.

Dean glared.

For a week now, and Dean would be that to admit it, it had been easier for the Winchester men to communicate. They weren't emotional, huggy-hipies, lovey-dovey by any means; but it was easier to just be around each other.

John had been off that weekend at a hunt, leaving his sons alone again but this time they knew where he was and he had called to make certain that everything was alright.

Everything in Dean's life was falling back into place. Trusty sidekick, GeekBoy Extraordinaire was again at his side constantly - without the added suffocation of the previous month. Dad was being the Big Badass Supernatural Hunter that Dean had grown up to idolize and most importantly, he had their back and they had his.

That is, when they got back to hunting.

"Dude! Uncalled for you imp!"

Sam scoffed.

"Imp? Bro, I'm _bigger _than you! Focus here! Or, do I have to get out the height chart again?"

Dean glared. Again.

"If Dad wasn't almost out the shower, I'd kick your ass."

"You could always _try_," replied Sam. He glanced up at his brother and gave him a wide grin.

The little...

But, as Dean had predicted, John chose that moment to exit the bathroom. Dressed in jeans and rubbing a fluffy blue towel through his hair he turned into the kitchen and glanced over his sons.

Both of which looked back at him with those innocent "it wasn't me" looks that they had nearly perfected during their teens.

"Any work getting done here?"

Twin "yes sir" replied. John looked them both over. Dean hadn't even bothered to hide the fact that he was munching his way through a new bag of assorted M&Ms. Sam had his nose in a book again, mirroring most of his childhood, but his notebook held a few doodles that Sam had tried to cover at his entrance with his hand.

"Is that a mermaid?"

Sam blushed.

"A mer_person_," Sam corrected.

"And his little horsey too," added Dean, plopping a few more candy coated chocolate into his mouth. And then tossing one at his brother's head.

"Dean," said John shaking his head, smiling at his son's "who me?" look.

John walked over and glanced at the book that lied open in front of his eldest. Grabbing the pile of blue M&Ms that littered its surface, he glanced over the material.

"Don't eat those, they're my favorite," Dean said, plopping a green M&M into his mouth.

"Ya know what they say about the green one's right?" Sam asked with that same cunning grin he had at twelve when he understood one of Caleb's dirty jokes.

"Pray tell, Samuel," smirked Dean.

"Get back to merpeople, Sammy," John dismissed.

Sam glared at him slightly before lifting his hand and continuing to draw at his sea horse.

"Dad, I think a girl possessed our boy there," Dean whispered up to his father, not bother to lower his voice.

Sam sent him a glare through his bangs. Neither Winchester needed to actual see it to know it was there.

"Dean, quit pestering your brother."

A minute later and a few questions addressed, and John was thinking that Dean was on to something. And, Sammy's art was better than he had last seen it at eighteen, but he kept that to himself.

"Nice work, boys. Dean, you all set to go to see - "

"The Wicked Witch of the West!" Sam finished.

So, not helping.

Dean laughed.

"Dude, I'll _never_ be ready for that one!"

It was John's turn to scoff and resist the urge to smack the back of Dean's head when Dean's more colorful description was stated.

"Clear this up while I finish getting dressed boys. We'll stop for lunch on our way to your appointment."

Before Dean could protest, as he had to all the previous appointments, John headed to his room to get dressed.

* * *

_"What brings you to therapy, Dean?" _

_"My Dad drove me here." _

_Doc Weiner laughed a little, clearly not knowing that _that_ was much how the rest of their session would go. _

_"Well, yes that's what got you here, but _why_?" _

_"I had unprotected sex with a porcupine." _

_Doc glared. She had some idea that this was going to be a little difficult. _

_She had the file. He could clearly see it. She was jotting things down since before he entered. Why did she want him to say it? Ignorant prick..._

"Dad, I don't see the point -"

"I told you already, because I said you had to."

Dean scoffed, but entered the truck all the same.

"Where's your brother?"

"Putting away his glitter and finger-paints."

Dean looked out the window, smirking, but he could feel the glare coming his way.

"He had to go grab his cell from his room."

"Thank you. Not that hard, son."

"You're no fun," whined Dean twisting around to glare at his father. But it was barely a menacing one.

Sam exited the apartment, locking the door behind him and hurrying into the backseat.

"What's the difference between six sessions and eight sessions? We don't talk about anything!"

John rolled his eyes but continued to drive.

"Because, I said eight. I like nice round numbers."

"Six _is_ a round number," Dean pointed out.

John ignored him, as he tended to do when the topic of Doc Weiner came into topic. Which was only when they were heading to see her, otherwise Dean refused to admit her existence.

_"How long ago did you first begin self-injury?" _

_Dean growled. It was the second time that he had to see her and she was jumping right into it. She had asked him the same thing a few times the last time. He had refused to answer because, again, that was all in the file. _

_Dean had had to talk with Dr. Grey before being released. The doctor had recommended Doc Weiner and had sent her his file. _

_Dean knew he should've just skipped out last night and ran off in the Impala until later this afternoon. Sure, his father would have a few choice words to say, but well he wouldn't be here now. _

_"Dean, I know this is getting to you, but that's why you're here." _

_Dean gave her a dubious look. _

_"Surely, you want to get better?" _

_Dean watched her for a moment. She didn't continue. _

_He looked away and thought for a second. There was no secret as to what it was that he did. Or used to do, as the case was, because Sammy was persistent if anything. _

_He didn't want to keep hurting Sammy. Or Dad. _

_Just himself. _

_But it was less of a secret that the one thing he wanted to do most at the moment, the one thing that all this talking was making him think about, was the one thing that would cause them harm. _

_And he just couldn't have that. _

* * *

"Ugh, I wanted _no_ onions. I think they put _extra_," whined Sam. 

They were pulling out of the drive-thru and Sam had nabbed a bag from his father's hands and started rummaging through it immediately.

Sam started to peel the onions off in disgust.

"Must be mine them, Einstein. Hey! Leave them alone!"

Dean grabbed at his burger from his brother's picky hands, tossing the other bag back to him.

"You took my fries! Dad, he took my fries!"

John looked at his youngest through the rearview mirror. Sam had the same pissy, angered, whiney look on his face that he always had when he and Dean started going at it.

"'id 'ot!" stammered Dean. Through a mouth full of the offensive food.

"Hey! Quit eating them!"

And Dean did, because it had some pepper on it.

"Don't spit it out!" warned John as he noticed the grimace look on his son's face.

With a despising look, Dean swallowed. Sam reached forward and grabbed the fries from his brother's hand.

"Serves you right! Jerk."

Drowning the offensive taste with his soda, Dean didn't get to give back his usual reply, but he believes that his evil eye told his brother just what he thought of him.

_"Where on your body did you self-injure?" _

_Dean shrugged. She had seen the photo shots and read the doctor's testimony. He was wearing short sleeves since she had made him place his jacket on the coat hanger by the door. _

_The scars from the last cut were clearly visible. _

_Still red from the stitches. Not yet the white of a scar. _

_Sammy had been pretty persistent all month on placing Neosporin on it, but he still knows it there. _

_He traces it sometimes with his finger, presses down on the line, so he can feel the nerves and vessels tingling. The red rushed back to the spot when his fingers leave, and sometimes he almost thinks that it's explode through. _

_It never does. _

_He rubs his finger on it now, unconsciously, as it has become. _

_"There. Yes there, but where else, Dean?" _

_Dean looks at her strangely. He hadn't said anything. She uses her pen to point at his arm. He sees himself gripping at his wrist. _

_Well damn. _

_But, he discovers that therapy doesn't mean he has to talk about it. Now _that_ he can do. _

_He locks eyes with her and grabs his belt. _

* * *

They're pulled over to the side of the road. John had a call on his cell and he said it was important. 

Dean's entertaining himself, drumming his fingers to the music – since he's finally gotten control over it.

_They call me the breeze _

_I keep blowing down the road _

_Well now, they call me the breeze _

_I keep blowing down the road _

_I ain't got me nobody _

_I don't carry me no load _

Lynyrd Skynyrd. Quite like no other. Dean heard the words and started mouthing along.

Sammy looked up from his own burger and shook his head at his brother. Predictable.

Not that Sam had been enjoying that old country mumbo jumbo thing that their father had the radio tuned to.

The brothers had agreed years before that their father listened to it just to spite them. Because no sane person would really want to listen to it.

_Ain't no change in the weather, _

_Ain't no changes in me. _

_Well, there ain't no change in the weather _

_Ain't no changes in me _

_And I ain't hiding from nobody _

_Nobody's hiding from me. _

Dean thought back to his third encounter with Doc Weiner. Granted, she was getting to be less of a pain the more he saw her.

Not that he would ever tell her that or anything.

But that third hour with her, she had made a valued point.

Since Sammy and Dad already knew about, who was he hiding it from? Why couldn't he just speak openly about it when it was already out?

He wasn't hiding. He didn't need to.

_Well I got that green light, baby _

_I got to keep moving on _

_Well I got that green light, baby _

_I got to keep moving on… _

"Dude, I need more ketchup, you got any?"

Dean looked away from his own soggy fries to his brother, startled out of thought.

"Huh?"

"Ketchup? You got any?"

"Yean," Dean smirked. "Why, you need some?"

Sam glared at him. He opened his mouth to say something, but then decided that he was too hunger to go the round with Dean.

Leaning forward, he nabbed Dean's ketchup for himself.

"Hey!" Dean whined, seeing his brother now happily munching at his ketchupy fries. "Brat!"

Sam grinned and continued to eat.

Dean looked at the fry in his hand. The red of the ketchup reminded him of blood.

And just like that, he wanted to cut.

_"What makes you special?" _

_Dean was startled out of his thinking. It was the fourth therapy session and Doc Weiner had confessed that there was a game on that she wanted to see, would he mind? _

_Her Vikings versus his Cowboys. _

_No question who won. _

_"I'm so damn handsome, haven't you noticed?" _

_Of course she had. _

_She laughed at him. _

_"Too self-assured, sonnie," she laughed. _

_Dean shrugged. He had learned that she was a pretty easy person to get along with. And she didn't press him to talk. She'd just ask a question and let it linger until he was ready to answer it. _

_But this one was so random. _

_Once she was done laughing and the game was pretty much already claimed, she addressed the question again. _

_"In your life, what makes you feel special? It helps if you can think about that instead f what makes you feel like shit." _

_Dean grinned. _

_"Thought you were supposed to, doc." _

_She turned to him. _

_"Son, fulfill you're fantasies elsewhere, yes?" _

_This time Dean laughed. _

_"Wow, so not even thinking that!" _

_She chuckled and let the question linger. _

_Dean was finger his Pepsi, because she had surprised him with Pepsi, Chips and Dip that day, seeing as how you really can't watch football without them. They both agreed. _

_"When I was little, Sammy was like my shadow. He was always following me and imitating me. I thought that was pretty cool." _

_She nodded, grabbing another chip. _

_Dean took a swig of the Pepsi and the game was back on. He watched for a second before he spoke again, not even bothering to wait for commercials this time. _

_"My Dad, he always depended on me, and I liked that. Still do. He's never looked at me like just some kid, and I was never just a brother to Sammy. _

_"I guess, them seeing me for more than what I am, that makes me feel pretty damn good." _

_They sat in silence for the last ten minutes of the game. Dean didn't even bother to gloat, seeing as how she was the one that would be controlling whether he would needing medication or not. _

_And he really couldn't deal with the side effects of some drug. _

_Doc turned to him and gave him a hung. _

_Dean was stunned. She had grabbed at his hand sometimes. She'd even shoved at his shoulder during the game when he'd made obscene comments about the Vikings – not that she'd remained tight lipped herself. _

_This whole 'huggy' thing was a first. _

_And Dean surprised himself by hugging her back. A little. _

_"Now, I want you to go home" _

_"Sure you don't want to move unto "fulfilling my fantasies"," he mocked. _

_She scoffed at him, shoving at his shoulder. _

_"I want you to go home AND," she added quickly before another of his smart remarks emerged. "I want you to write out what the cutting did for you." _

_Dean groaned. She'd made him write something out before and it had been hell. _

_He hated having to admit to emotion. Even if just on paper. _

_But that was the point. _

_"You're killing me!" he whined. _

_She gave him a sobering look. _

* * *

"Dean, quit spacing out. I don't buy it." 

Dean turned to look at his father as the man stepped back into the vehicle and peeled out back into the road.

"I wasn't...I didn't mean to," blushed Dean.

John gave him a knowing look and a smile.

"You do that a lot lately," observed Sam.

"Eat in silence, Sammy."

Sam looked over to his father, mouth wide in annoyance.

Dean, smirking, reached back and closed it.

"Catch flies that way, kiddo," teased Dean.

"What'd I do?"

"Less talking. More eating," John watched as Sam settled back into his seat, sipping at his drink. Besides him, Dean was finishing up his fries and starting up on his second burger, drumming the song's rhythm into his knee.

"Dean, switch the music back."

Both boys groaned through their food.

"HEY! Shut your cakeholes!"

As they neared the Doc's office, John was telling Dean how Sam and he would be at the library a block down from where his appointment was. Sam, naturally, was ready to complain. Even though it was his sanctuary, he had taken to waiting for Dean outside of the doc's office.

Dean nodded. He fingered the notebook paper in his pocket, wondering how his family would handle what he had written on it.

_I NEED TO FEEL THE PAIN _

_IT HELPS ME FEEL SENSATION _

_INJURY STOPS THE FEELINGS _

_IT LETS ME KNOW I AM ALIVE _

_IT HELPS ME SPACE OUT _

He wondered if Doc would see him differently after this. Or maybe, see him for the first time as the monster he had created of himself.

Dean hadn't even realized some of the things that he'd felt until he had written them out.

He wasn't sure yet how it was to help him, but he hoped that she wouldn't go through each one of them with him.

He couldn't handle that that much he knew.

One thing was for sure, he was burning the list the second they left her office.

* * *

The usual secretary wasn't there. Actually, Dean saw little Sammy eying the new _hot_ secretary suggestively. 

"Might have to drag him out with you, Dad," Dean said with a smirk.

John turned to him, questioning look in his eyes.

Dean nudged his chin towards where Sam had gone ahead to strike up a few words with the girl.

John smirked.

"You two are _definitely_ related," John said, patting Dean on the back.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

John winked at him before going to actually sign Dean in, as Sam had _said_ he was doing.

Five minutes later, since apparently she was on the phone but Dean later noticed she'd actually been watching some match of sorts, she spoke to Dad and Sam about being part in their last two sessions.

Dean was surprised. He had figured that something like that had to be okay'd by him first.

Sam looked at him and he shrugged.

"You sure?"

"Mr. Wilder, I think that would be real helpful in your understanding of what Dean has been through. It'd be better for me to directly advise you on how to deal with it when it "comes back" then to trust on your son to rely back to you what I'll tell him. I have spent more than ten minutes with him and have a pretty clear understanding on his stubborn streak."

John scoffed, looking his eldest over. Dean shrugged at him, not really sure if he cared or not that they would be there.

"Besides, I do believe the Vikings are having _quite_ a week if I may say. I feel victory approaching."

Dean laughed at that. Certain that over football it might be easier to just toss about some facts out SI then to have an actual session about it.

John and Sam gave him a look. He nodded to them.

"Sounds like fun," Dean said, leaning back on the doorframe.

John gave him a surprised look but quickly composed himself, unlike Sam.

John nudged him as he headed out the door, not certain what the change during the drive had been on his eldest.

* * *

"Well, do you have anything for me this time? And please tell me it's not a bunch of crumbled up papers you stuffed into your pocket again." 

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Haha, real funny. Didn't know that the fourth meeting entitled humor."

She gave him a little smile and he remembered watching football with her, watching her enthusiasm and hearing her cleanfully bad mouthing his guys (and hers when she thought they were playing like they had a "pointy pencil in their cup" instead of the required "balls"), he thought that she must have been a real charmer in her day.

Dean pulled out his list, folded as he demonstrated, from his pocket.

_IT HELPS ME FEEL GROUNDED _

_I NEED TO FEEL PUNISHED _

_I FEEL MORE IN CONTROL _

_IT FEELS SOOTHING AND COMFORTING _

_IT RELEASES TENSION _

_IT'S FAMILUAR _

_I NEED TO SEE THE BLOOD/MARKS _

_IT HELPS ME GET AWAY _

_I GET MORE FOCUSED _

She dashed over to her desk, and he eyed her for a second before making himself comfortable on the couch.

_I REMEMBER TO STAY FOCUSED THE NEXT TIME + _

_IT MAKES EVERYTHING MORE REAL _

_IT MAKES EVERYTHING LESS REAL _

_I RELEASE MY FRUSTRAIONS THAT WAY _

_I FEEL LIKE I'M SUPPOSED TO _

She made slower progress coming back to him. He could tell that something was clutched in her hand.

_EVERYTHING SLOWS DOWN AND I FEEL LIKE I'M IN A FOG _

_I FEEL LIKE IT'S NOT MY BODY WHEN I HURT _

_I FEEL OUT OF IT AND IF I CUT MYSELF LONG ENOUGH IT HELPS ME "COME BACK" _

_SOMETIMES, IT'S LIKE I WATCH MYSELF DO IT BUT I DON'T FEEL LIKE I'M DOING IT _

_IT'S LIKE ANOTHER PART OF ME IS DOING IT _

_SO THAT MY FAILURES AREN'T AS APPARENT + _

_TO MOURN THOSE THAT I COULDN''T HELP + _

_SO SOMEONE ELSE WON'T HAVE TO + _

Coming up besides him, she sat on the couch, plucked the list from his hand, and handed him her own.

tbc...Next chapter..._Yells_

* * *

A/N3: 

I tried to have humor, because in reading some of the real POV from sites, I was hating myself in waht I had done to Dean.

JUST realized how my one line summary doesn't really fit in with this fic, oh well, I hadn't planned on making this chapter like this either. But, low and behold, 14 pages later and I have to wipe the tears from my eyes.

Trying to credit where some information was gathered from. However, can't give out the links here, so I'll try and get them on my profile for a bit. I leanred a lot from these sites and it's important that if someone who does SI or knows someone who self-injures understands some things.

Secret Shame: Shame, Living with SI: Dean's porcupine line

KathyandCo, Checklist for You: Most of Dean's List

Myself+ (for Dean)

SONG: Call Me the Breeze, Lynyrd Skynyrd, though it was credited in the fic. I know that this song doesn't really fit, but it was playing on the radio as I was writing, and then I started singing along and well...

Thanks to all who have reviewed and HAPPY WEEKEND!! (Kind of weird to say, though after all the sad things I've read today) Make me happy again by reviewing:D

A/N4: I miss John, so I tend to write him nicely. What can I say, JDM does that to me. And I like my carefree (sorta) Sammy. :)


	22. Yells

A/N: It's been a long, long time since I posted, but alas, I have finally gathered up a few minutes and got this chapter up. I'm quite proud of it. It's really tying Everything together. Technically, this is the ending. However, there is an epilouge chapter, and then that's it. It's been a real tough topic for me to write about, but I hope that this does a little more than just entertain and maybe educate some people too.

SI is serious and should be handled accordingly. I never gave into my urges to cut, but I do know people who have. This is for them, so that they always know I'm thinking of them, and love them tons. No matter what.

**Departing** **Thoughts**

_He thought about entering the kitchen, knowing that the second that they saw him they would be silenced..._

**Yells**

By: chocolate rules

They were finally, FINALLY, letting him go out by himself. Granted, he had to be back at a certain time, it was still great to have some breathing room.

It started out with either Sam or John driving him to the last few meetings with Doc. The lady had really been a blessing that evening that his family had gone in with him.

Granted, John hadn't been too thrilled to find out that some of the time spent with his son was spent watching _football_. That is, until she started bad mouthing his Chiefs.

At the end, Doc got it through their heads that they needed to let Dean out some.

Some. She even stressed the word.

Sam had downright refused, might have even hinted that she was crazy for thinking so. But, John had just looked his son over and read his reactions.

Dean hadn't seemed on edge or needy. He hadn't harbored any sign of 'need' like he had at the beginning. The first few weeks had really given John a painful insight on his eldest. Dr. Grey had warned him about certain withdrawals symptoms. But, it was nothing like the real thing.

For one, Dean had always been the type to keep emotions and pain to himself. John had always thought that was Dean hardening himself, becoming the soldier that John had trained him to be.

It had damn near killed him to learn that it had all been because Dean had found his own resolve to the pain.

Cutting, Self mutilation. John had never really given those types of things much thought. Sure, he'd heard about it before; it wasn't like he lived beneath a rock. But, he had never thought that one of his sons, one of Mary's babies, would do something like that to themselves.

So, it had been hard for him to see the pain actually pass through his boy.

And then the thought of letting him go it alone…well, it damn near terrified him.

But, looking at his first born son, John entrusted what little faith he had left to Mary and had nodded at Doc's request. He had even volunteered to keep Sammy at bay.

So, Dean being out on his lonesome had been hard, limited to only an hour at that, but they had let him be.

It had been a week since they had started letting him go. He didn't even have anywhere _to_ go, but he would still get into the Impala and drive away, returning within the agreed upon hour.

Sam had been his normal mother-hen. He had tried asking Dean where he was going, what he'd be doing, when he would be back, and if he was certain that he wanted to go alone.

Lucky for Dean, John had actually been the reasonable one and hadn't forced any of these questions on him. So, Sammy remained furyied and worried until the unmistakable sound of the Impala's killer engine was zooming up the road and pulling into the driveway.

John would silently retain his worry, teasing his youngest about how much he had hated the same inquiry when he had been a teenager. The only thing that this had accomplished was Sam to glare at him.

Everything was going great. Each member of the Winchester household was fine and getting back to their own crazy, obsessed state of normal. Each member had started to regain comfort in their respective roles both within the family and as a person. The Winchesters were known to be strong and quick to bounce back for any setback. This had been a little different. None of them had seen this coming, not even Dean since he hadn't wanted to be discovered.

But, the truth of the matter was that it did happen, Dean had been caught and steps had been taken to help him.

Everything was starting to pull together.

That was to say until this day.

Dean had managed to get away before either his father or brother had awoken, figuring that he'd be able to grab an extra hour out. He hadn't felt like his _old_ self in weeks, and he felt that he deserved a _reward_ if you will.

So he headed over to a bar. He found himself a girl and well, he took an extra hour to get home.

Everything was going great.

He'd stop and grabbed them all breakfast before heading back to the house that his father had rented a few months back.

He had thought about calling ahead, assuring them both that he was alright, but he figured that they may still be sleeping and he could just sneak back in and everything would be just fine...

Entering the house, he tried to be as quiet as possible.

_Oh, that's real rich! Did you come up with that just now?_

Dean sighed, hating the hard tones that he was hearing. He shut the door behind him, half way pleased with himself that he had made it back unnoticed, apparently, but more than a little upset at what he got back to.

_Cool it, Sam! You're not exactly a model citizen yourself, you know. _

_Yeah? And whose fault is that?!_

Groaning to himself, Dean made his way to the stairs, hoping to just walk away from the argument and avoid all the loud voices.

He hated when his brother and father fought.

_I did what I HAD to do! I did what needed to be done to keep this family together!_

Dean looked at the door that led to the kitchen. He could hear someone rattling around in there, probably making breakfast. He wondered what had caused the two to start off on each other again. As far as he could see, they were trying really hard to keep everything calm around him. He hated that they felt that he needed to be cared for in that way, but it was kind of nice not having to hear them go off at each other for every little thing.

And then this.

He heard Sam snort and John sigh heavily. Apparently they had been at it for a while.

Dean thought about entering the kitchen, knowing that the second that they saw him they would be silenced.

But, then the second they were alone again, they would be at it.

Dean leaned against the railing. He hated to think that they would be fighting at all. He wondered if it would be better to just let them yell it out.

_Well, you did a _great_ job at that, Dad, thanks. Dean nearly offed himself – _

_And you ran away! So, you don't get to complain at what's been done since you weren't any help!_

Dean tensed all over. They were fighting about him! Of all the things for them to argue about, why did they choose him?

Clenching his hands into fist, he made to move back to the front door, drive off until they went to look for him or called him back. He didn't want to hear them anymore, and he shouldn't have had to.

A foot away from the door, Dean stilled.

This was the moment that he had been dreading. He was about to reach his wits end, wondering why the hell his family couldn't just get along. Wondering why, with their lifestyle practically counting their days, why they couldn't just enjoy being together.

It was this feeling that a few lines, a little pain, would usually take care of. And he was all alone.

"Hey, Dean."

Dean turned around, half surprised to see his brother standing at the kitchen's doorway.

"Hey."

"Where'd you head off to so early?"

Dean turned away from his brother and looked back at the front door. Well, they had stopped yelling, no reason to avoid them, he figured.

"Around."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Sure bro, love to hear you tell that to Dad."

Dean scoffed, hating how his brother was all self-righteous about their father when it wasn't _him_ how had to answer to the man.

"Sure, Sam."

Dean turned away from the door and headed over to his brother.

"Dad's got breakfast almost done."

Dean nodded. He looked up to meet his little brother's eyes, wondering if he should tell him that he heard them arguing.

The way he figured it, Sam would either deny it or apologize. But that wouldn't help much. Sam and their father would just find another thing to fight about.

"You okay? You're kinda quiet there."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"I'm fine, Sam. No need to mother me."

Sam sighed.

"You're not the _quiet_ type, Dean," Sam said.

"It happens," Dean said with a shrug.

John exited the kitchen, carrying the meal plates to the table. That was another thing that they were doing, par Sam's request, in order to reinstate themselves into a happier family environment. Or something to that bull that the kid had read somewhere.

Sam went to get the rest of the meal as Dean took of his coat and tossed it over the backend of the couch. Maybe he'd be able to slip away again today. A few extra hours alone wouldn't hurt anyone.

He headed back over to the table just as Sam was reentering with the salad bowl.

"Where did you go this morning?" John asked him as he sat down.

"Nowhere. Just, drove around," Dean replied simply, trying hard not to shrug.

It was the truth. He hadn't gone anywhere and he hadn't done anything. Sure, he stopped at that novelty store for a second, but he was sure that that wasn't what his father had meant to know about.

"So, you left real early to go and do nothing? I ain't buying it."

Dean sighed, not wanting to get into anything. He hadn't done anything. He'd just needed to get away from the constant _mothering_, from both of his family. But saying that would sound just awful.

He looked over, startled to see that amongst the fighting the two had actually managed to prepare a hefty meal. Together.

Sam set out the plates, placing a pile of four pancakes and six strips of crispy bacon besides it. Just to get them all started.

Dean looked up to his father, knowing that it was in the man's nature not to let things slide, especially when it came to his sons. Even more so lately.

"I really did just drive around, Dad," Dean said calmly. He shrugged, accepting the plate that Sam handed him. "I guess I just wanted to see if I could."

John accepted his plate from Sam. Dean watched him, hoping to sense if his father was going to drop the situation or not.

He noted that Sam was being unusually quiet, but he decided to tackle ne problem at a time.

"See if you could what?" his Dad asked. The hint of worry evident in his voice.

Dean smirked down to his plate.

"I didn't do anything. I promise. I just –

"Needed to breath?"

Dean scoffed before nodded down to his plate. He missed the looks that his brother and father shared, but he felt the tension that he hadn't known was present start to subside.

"You sure that's it?"

Dean nodded at his father, having stuffed half of the bacon strips into his mouth.

" 'es 'ir"

Sam hid a laugh as he drowned his pancakes in syrup.

Dean watched his father look them both over. He tried to seem as relaxed and confident as ever.

John picked up his fork and knife, cutting the pancakes into quarters. He reached over nabbing the syrup bottle from Sam's hands before the sticky liquid started to flow off the plate.

"Hey," Sam whined.

John ignored him, eyeing Dean seriously.

"Next time, you wake me up or leave a note. Understood?"

"Yes sir," Dean said. He picked up one of his pancakes, tossing it onto of Sam's mountain of syrup before picking it up again and starting to cut it up.

Sam glared at him, but that went ignored as well.

And the rest of breakfast went on just as calmly.

* * *

Sam watched as his brother rested on the couch. They were watching some TV show, neither was really sure what it was about, but the main characters had a great car and some really neat guns. Their father had headed out to get something, telling them both not to kill each other. 

Dean looked relaxed. Like nothing had happened.

Maybe it hadn't. Because he really hoped it hadn't.

"Quit staring."

Sam startled glanced back to the TV screen.

He hadn't being caught like that.

They watched in silence for another five minutes while the show continued on. Then on commercials, Sam tried to pretend that he wasn't being watched.

"What is it?" Dean asked him a few seconds later.

"What?" he replied refusing to look away from the appetizing commercials, except things never seem to look the same when you actually order them.

He felt his brother's movement before he felt the sharp pain on the back of his head.

"Hey!"

"Dude, quit wasting my time. I ain't getting any younger."

Sam groaned.

"Talk before the show's back, or I ain't listening."

Sam bit his lip before twisting over to face his brother.

"This morning, when I came out of the kitchen. You, well, you had that look on your face."

"What look?"

Sam glanced back at the TV before replying.

"I don't know. Like a guilty look."

Dean looked at him skeptically.

"What'd I need to be looking guilty for?"

He shrugged.

Dean sighed.

"Is that your sadly pathetic attempt at asking if there's something I should be guilty about?"

Soft nod.

Dean leaned further down into the couch, resting his head on Sam's shoulder.

"I heard you and Dad arguing."

Sam tensed. He had figured that Dean ahd heard. Though Dean was right by the door when Sam saw him, he had a slight feeling that Dean had been there a bit longer.

"I can explain…"

Dean shook his head.

"I was mad. And, well, I _did_ think about it."

"Dean!" Sam cried out, looking down at his brother.

Dean cringed, but he didn't apologize.

"I just _thought_ about it. I didn't do anything."

Sam snaked his arm around his brother, hugging him closer to him.

"Would you have? Had I not said anything?"

Dean didn't move from the embrace. He figured that his big brother needed the comfort as much as he did.

"I rather not think about it like that, kiddo."

Sam sniffed, nodding against Dean's hair.

"But, it wasn't really all there. I can fight it. That better for you?"

Sam hugged him tighter.

"Tell me next time, okay?"

Dean nodded. He patted at Sam's bony knee before glancing back up to him.

"You going to tell Dad?"

He bit at his lip again. He knew that Dad would lecture Dean, probably take away his 'free hour' for a few days. But, on the upside, Sam hated the thought that Dad would keep something like this from him.

"I think I better."

Dean groaned, dropping his head against Sam's chest.

"Unless you want to? I don't think we should make anymore dents in this family. We need to stick together."

Dean sighed, but after a second he nodded.

Sam patted his head. He tried not to let his thoughts wonder to what would have happened if he hadn't insisted that he heard Dean that morning.

"Okay. But, I'm telling him tomorrow. On the phone. After I leave for an hour."

Sam scoffed.

"Dude, you want him to beat your ass this far in life? I thought Doc cleared you from the _let's kill Dean_ thoughts."

Dean straightened up, punching his little brother playfully at the stomach.

"Ouff," Sam groaned.

Dean grinned that cocky grin of his. Sam tried to stick out at him, but Dean just caught his arm and tugged him towards him.

"You're an asshole, you little bitch," retorted Dean as he hugged his kid brother to him.

Sam smiled to himself. It had been a lot simpler for them all to communicate since Dean got better. Heck, even their father had insisted that they talk some things through.

"Jerk."

THE END.

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Please review! There's still one more to post and then this little fic is over. 


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